


Just Between Enemies

by mudkipwrites



Series: GloryVerse [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Addictions, Alien Biology, Alien Gender/Sexuality, Alien/Human Relationships, Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Art by Sempaiko, Avoiding Feelings, Bars and Pubs, Biting, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Claws, Come Swallowing, Deepthroating, During Canon, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, Glory Hole, Guilty Pleasures, Hate Sex, Hinted Thranto, Knotting, Love/Hate, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, ROYeurism, Self-Denial, Size Difference, Size Kink, Unhappy/Happy Endings, Voyeurism, Xeno, Xeno Fixation, unhealthy coping habits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25169377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Agent Kallus is keeping a secret.It’s not like he’d meant to start fucking the rebel Garazeb Orrelios. Their first hookup, after all, had been an accident: he'd simply gone to the same glory hole that he’d always frequented on Nar Shaddaa, and it just so happened that he’d encountered his nemesis there. No, it’s not about the accident anymore; it’s about the intention. It’s the fact that he knows that it is his enemy on the other side, and that he still wants it. It’s that he knows now that it’s the very same rebel who has been evading him for years, and that he still craves these clandestine meetings behind the grimy, broken-down bar. It’s that he knows he is close enough to capture the one and only Lasat, and yet, that he’d still rather suck the other man dry then turn him into the Empire.As any good ISB Agent should.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: GloryVerse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2191383
Comments: 120
Kudos: 301





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unapologetic, furry, enemies-to-lovers smut.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ISB Agent visits a bar. The bar has a glory hole. And a well-endowed visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few shout-outs before we get started: to Birdlets, for inspiring this particular content; to Senator PalpaTon, for requesting an initial glory-hole meetup; and to Semp, for giving me the sexy/soft words that made this whole thing click. Thanks for being my smut-muses!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

The glass that he is holding within his gloved hand is foggy, finger-printed and chipped. ISB-029, Agent Kallus, doesn’t care. He swirls the dark, golden-brown liquid in it around in a circle, then tosses it back in one burning swallow. This is the place that he looks forward to, despite its appearance: the _Lazy Lekku,_ a seedy ( _and_ , _frankly, notorious)_ bar on Nar Shaddaa, where shore-leave Imperials come for untraceable hookups. 

Untraceable, _inter-species_ hookups. 

Agent Kallus drops the glass down on the counter, motioning with his finger for yet another. The space-bourbon here is terrible _,_ but that doesn’t matter; that’s not what he’s here for. _A good fuck,_ he thinks, scanning the crowd. _Well, a good mouth-fuck, at least._ He has standards to maintain, after all. 

The plump, golden-orange Twi’lek woman tending the bar walks over to him. Her ample hips sway, and her hefty lekku trace the motion of her gentle walking. When she arrives to pick up his empty glass, she looks at him appreciatively from under heavily-hooded eyes. “Looking for someone in particular, handsome?” she asks. Her voice is musical, with the accent of Ryloth thick on her tongue. 

Kallus shakes his head. His mouth quirks, smiling minutely. “Not really your type, sweetheart,” he replies.

He does his best to shuffle his own crisp, Coruscanti accent beneath the words, but he can tell by the twinkle in her eye that he is not fooling her for a second about his Imperial background. She sweeps the tumbler away, pouting. “Too bad,” she murmurs. “You _do_ know where you are, right? And the _specials_ that we offer here?” 

This time, his smile is genuine. Kallus receives the filled cup from her, bringing it to his lips.

“Yes,” he replies. “I’ve been lucky enough to savor the menu several times.” He sips, and the spicy, thin liquid passes into his mouth. He swirls it within his mouth, savoring the way that it numbs the edges of his throat and tongue. “In fact, I often check to see if there’s something special you’re keeping on reserve in the _back.”_

A look of realization crosses the woman’s face. Her pouting expression clears, and she taps the side of one plump cheek knowingly. “ _Ah,_ a connoisseur of the _finer things_ in life,” she muses. “Let me have a word with our specialist. I’ll be right back.” 

Agent Kallus wipes his wet, eager lips on the back of his hand as she walks away. His eyes follow the woman as she disappears through a door behind the bar, which, as he’s come to know over his frequent visits, is the place where the lead ‘cocktail artist’ resides. Upon his first time,he’d stumbled into the _Lek_ as a red-faced, sweaty-palmed, freshly-recruited Imperial. He hadn’t known what to ask--only that this was the place to ask for it--and had ended up sandwiched between two ravenous Devronian gentlemen in the corner of the bar. It had been a _delightfully_ memorable encounter, but he's since learned to be more specific with his requests. 

And tonight, he's hoping that she has something close to what he's looking for. 

The bartender emerges from the shadowy doorway, beckoning Agent Kallus to come closer. Tempering his eagerness with the heat of the drink still hot on his tongue, he rises and follows her down a long, dusty hallway. Wooden floorboards creak beneath his feet, and exotic posters displaying beers made on beachside Scarif are pasted colorfully upon the walls. 

Not one of the scantily-clad women--human or alien--catch his eye. 

“Aren’t _you_ in for a treat tonight, handsome!" The bartender tells him in a low, eager tone as they approach the line of refreshers. "We have a rather extraordinary guest with us here tonight. But before I bring you to him, he wants to know--” she looks up at him through those heavy eyes, “--is if you are willing to take him _all_ in. You see...he's rather... _big."_

Kallus inhales sharply through his nostrils. _Kriff! Now, we're getting somewhere._

“I can assure you,” he replies, struggling to keep his voice calm, “It will not be an issue. I have been most expertly trained.” Even before gazing upon the fat, ready alien cock awaiting him, he's already beginning to feel his mouth salivate. The thought of an organ so _massive_ that it requires the very best of his ISB-trained skills...

The woman grins at him. She can clearly see his open pleasure. “Then right through this door,” she purrs. “You know the way.” 

Indeed, Kallus does.

He nods at her in thanks, working to keep his breathing steady, as he pushes his way out the fizzing exit and into the alleyway. It looks, as it always has every time that he’s visited, like the dilapidated, wooden-sided 'fresher that it is. Without knowing the kind of mind-bending pleasure sthat goes on inside, it looks for all the world like a dingy, unused outhouse. There are cracks where Nar Shadaa’s neon lights shine in through the sides _(and into which sizeable holes have been drilled)._ Stepping around broken bottles and scuttling Loth-rats, Agent Kallus makes his way through the dark alleyway until he is standing before the paint-peeling doorway. A sign hangs over the latch, “ _Out Of Order,”_ noting that a meetup has been scheduled. Kallus smiles, flexing the fingerless gloves on his hands with a creak. _I will not be disturbed._ _All is as it should be._

He steps inside. 

Immediately, the heavy smell of musk, sweat and _sex_ fills up his nostrils. There are messages scribbled against the walls; phone numbers and curses and 'for a good time's. Kallus inhales the familiar, illicit scent into his nostrils and steps farther into the promising dark, closing the door with a click behind him. Yes, _this_ is what he has been waiting for: the promised release of his dutiful cares, and the certainty of lips stretched around a thick, xeno cock. _The Empire doesn’t have to know,_ he thinks to himself, searching around for the appropriate hole. _I am loyal to the System. I follow orders. Whatever I do in my spare time: it is none of their business._ It’s a sort of mantra that he says when he falls to his knees. 

Because, emerging from one of the navel-high holes, purple, and _dripping,_ is the most deliciously _enormous_ cock that he's ever seen. 

The bartender had been right; this _is_ an exceptional visitor. Even with all of his many liaisons, Agent Kallus cannot recognize the exact shape and texture of this particular phallus. He's become accustomed to all _sorts_ of pleasant, alien curiosities: spikes and tentacles, scales and smooth textures, pre-lubrication and multiple-heads. But he's _not_ yet encountered an organ this size, nor of its intriguing design. The cock extends before him, dark-headed and dripping, as though it had emerged from an interior sheath. It is ribbed with curved, spike-shaped nubs of flesh, growing more dark towards the bottom and layered with stripes. It is extending and _extending,_ continuing upwards and outwards until it was nearly the length of his entire forearm.

It makes him _stare_ , dreamy-eyed, in sheer admiration before even starting. 

It isn't polite to say words to one another. The privacy and anonymity of the _Lek_ is one of the reasons why people like ISB Agents go here. And yet, Agent Kallus cannot _help_ but to release the slight hum of approval emerging from his lips, nor the whine of anticipation as he draws closer and breathes in that heady lungful of scent. 

Earth. Lavender. _Spice._

To his delight, the person on the other side of the wall gives a soft, low-pitched growl of satisfaction. And doesn’t _that_ make Agent Kallus want to undo his own fly on the spot, frotting their anxious members together?!

 _Hi there,_ he thinks, drawing close enough to breath upon the massive shaft of the alien bobbing before him. _Nice to make your acquaintance._ Shifting on his knees so that he is resting comfortably upon the floor, Agent Kallus puffs breath over the glistening, purple-black head. _Oh, THIS is going to be FUN,_ he thinks, raising his hands to hover around either side of it. _Just wait until they realize how much I’m up for the challenge…_

Pleased to draw out the tension, Kallus spends the first few moments sniffing and breathing over the extended member. He hears the sound of that rumbling growl of arousal again, and he smirks at the effect of this initial teasing.

 _Enjoying this?_ He wants to say, allowing his tongue to flick out of his mouth and _whisper_ against the base. _So am I._ There is a _groan_ as Kallus presses his tongue against the base father, tasting a stripe up the length of the shaft. _Big,_ he thinks, eyelids drooping pleasantly. _So_ _very_ _big. You’re going to feel_ **_i_** _ncredible_ _inside of me._

Careful to avoid the _(resting? deflated?)_ spines, he works his way around the stiffening shaft.

Each swipe of his tongue over the smooth, dripping surface leaves him with the faint taste of flowers and spice in his mouth. _You taste good,_ he hums inwardly, allowing the vibrations of his lips and mouth to pulse against the awakening flesh. 

This, once again, earns him throaty appreciation. 

_Let’s take this further,_ Agent Kallus decides. He raises both hands to brace around the base, moving his fingers carefully so that he can leverage the size ( _and the weight, and the girth!)_ of the erection against his lips. Taking a moment to let the other person rumble with that pleasant growl, he holds the throbbing head against his lips. _You’re in for it,_ he promises the other mentally. _Just hold tight, and relax._

He wets his lips, and begins to press in. 

Agent Kallus feels the alien quake as his mouth begins to suck around the tight, heart-shaped ridges of the head. It is a _delightful_ sensation--the slipperiness of his own lips, against the wet slide of the other’s internal lubrication. _A sheath, perhaps?_ He wonders as he mouths his top and bottom lips tightly around the rim of the head. _Or maybe, he’s prepared?_

The thought of another man working his hands over his shaft--pumping, breathing hard, anticipating how Kallus would be getting down on his knees--makes him bow forward and take the shaft further. 

Moaning, the owner of the erection shudders as his mouth descends past the head and onto the shaft. Kallus works his tongue over the tear-shaped nubs, feeling the tiniest _prick_ as he pushes down upon one with his tongue. _Have to be careful, there,_ he notes to himself, drawing the pressure back and focusing on the suction. _Don’t want to end up with a mouthful of barbs._ (He’d done it once, on accident, to a Nautilan; he’d never knowingly do it again). Dutifully sucking down, Kallus licks down the shaft, exploring the taste and texture farther.

 _He’s huge,_ the Agent muses, eyes pulling shut to savor the wholly new flavor. _And he tastes_ _good_ ** _._** _I wonder what kind of creature…_

He must have made a particularly good motion with his tongue, because the alien on the other side grunts in eagerness and thrusts himself forward. More suddenly then Agent Kallus had prepared for, he finds the shaft descending towards the back of his throat, punching against the softness of his palate. 

Withdrawing with a _pop,_ Kallus removes himself, stroking both hands up and down the trembling shaft. _E_ _asy there,_ he tries to reassure with his gestures. _You’re too big to be in control. Let me steer._

When the urgent thrusting begins to settle, he returns to his task of mouth-fucking him properly. 

Agent Kallus knows that he is a good fuck. _Objectively._ He has experience--years of it, frequenting Nar Shaddaa, learning the many and various ways to please partners. He has training--specialized skills such as nose-breathing and a suspended gag reflex, rooted in the ISB torture endurance testing. And he is driven _._ He _wants_ it. Kallus lives and breathes for the next opportunity to go down at the outhouse behind the bar, because here is where he can express himself clearly, and the full intensity of the desire he’s always suppressing. 

_Fucking_ _stars_ ** _,_** _this is excellent!_ Agent Kallus finds himself drooling, his jaw hanging loosely open as he impales his face upon the alien shaft. _What will it be like when they come to climax? Will I be able to catch all the spend in my mouth? Will they have multiple stages of release? Maybe, given that growling...they’ll have a_ _knot_ ** _…_** The thought of his favorite desire makes Kallus whine _,_ even with his restraint to not make a sound. 

And from the other side of the door, he can hear a shaking _gasp_ in return.

Then, the sound of _claws,_ dragging roughly against the wood of the door. 

_Fucking_ _claws._

Agent Kallus cannot hold himself back anymore. Grasping tightly with his hands around the shaft, squeezing his knees together for friction, he roughly and widely thrusts himself against the organ with reckless abandon. 

_Fuck! FUCK!_

Tears begin to form in his eyes as he feels the alien taking control, wall shaking between them as thick thighs collide with either side of the glory hole. The image of the monstrous _size_ of the other man that this paints--taller even than Kallus, likely _stronger,_ too, given the thundering sound of his thrusts--makes his aroused body flame with sensations. 

_Touch me,_ he gasps in his mind, reaching for his fly.

Now, with his head thrown back to receive every wild thrust, Agent Kallus drops his hands to his trousers and focuses upon his own erection. He barely has time to pull himself free before he hears the ragged growling begin to stutter.

 _“M’gonna_ \--” the voice from the other side is rough, and _desperate. “M’gonna_ \-- _k-Kara_ \--be _c-careful._ Pull yerself _back.”_

Obedient, palming himself feverishly, Agent Kallus withdraws. 

A long trail of his own saliva, mixed with the lubrication of the xeno dick, is spun from his mouth and dangles between them. To his delight and fascination, a squarish, _thick_ knot is developing at the base of the shaft. With each dust-shaking thrust of the alien against the wall, the knot swells larger, rising up the shaft and extending the various nubs into glistening sharpness. 

Kallus _gasps_ as the erection in the glory hole spasms, erupting from the tip and now-rigid spikes with shimmering, purple-white fluid. It pours over him, hot and _gushing,_ and he cannot _help_ but cry out too as he bursts with his own orgasmic pleasure between his hands. 

“ _MMM!_ Ahh-ha.. _.YES!”_

Panting, hung-over, Kallus collapses upon the floor.

He blinks wet-eyed ( _well, wet_ _everything_ ** _)_** up at the member, which has swollen to such an incredible size from its knot that it can no longer be removed from the hole at the moment. Dazed, Agent Kallus admires the spines--so small and soft before, now extended into rigid spies to hold a partner in place--which also seem to be glistening with a vivid, transparent fluid. He raises a hand and wipes it over his face, trailing the bountiful spend through his mussed mutton chops. 

_“Yesss,”_ he repeats, voice gravelly and unrecognizable from the deep-throating and hazy release of his own sex. _“Mmmmmm._ That was. _Good.”_

From the other side of the wall, he can hear the sound of soft growling and panting. A chuckle, maybe. He pictures the smile, but cannot fathom the face." _T-thanks,”_ the other voice rumbles. _A man._ “G-give me a minute. I’m. I can’t move like this.” Kallus blinks up at the engorged member, watching the steady stream of pearlescent seed that continues to dribble out from the head even now. Feeling high on his orgasm--perhaps, one of his very _best--_ he reaches out a fingertip, smearing some of the dripping fluid over the hot flesh.

 _“UUUNNNGGGGGgggggg…”_ The groan of pleasure descends into a growl.

He smirks and sticks the finger into his mouth, own cock twitching with interest as he tastes that unique flower-spice scent once again. It’s _sweeter_ than most of the cum that he’s tasted. If there wasn’t so _much_ of it--soaking into his skin, glistening upon his face, making his clothing sodden and clinging to his panting chest--he’d be tempted not to waste it. 

“Can I help you out there?” Kallus slurs.

To his lack of surprise, his tone of voice is still _broken,_ and he wonders if he looks as destroyed as his tender vocal chords are feeling right now. “Something else that needs to happen?” 

He hears that chuckle again. It’s warm, and it makes fond heat bloom within his stomach.“Nah, better not. If ya get started again...who _knows_ how many I’ll have before the night’s end.” 

Perhaps this was _not_ the thing that he should have told ISB Agent. And yet, he _had._ And so Kallus smiles, sensing the unspoken challenge, and runs a hand through his wet, messy hair. He draws close to the knot--slightly decreased, but nowhere any less tempting and beautiful--and softly begins to mouth it with kisses. “I’m here, if you are…” he rasps. 

A sound again. This time--a _purr._ “ _Well._ In _that_ case…” 

ISB Agent Kallus closes his eyes, exhales his pleasure, and falls into the rhythm of using his mouth once again. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So how many times did they fuck on that first night???


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallus is angry. He's had a bad day. But his evening gets better.

* * *

**TWO**

* * *

_FUCK!_

Agent Kallus is _furious._

His boots crunch roughly against the dry, cracked ground of Nar Shadaa as he stalks his way towards the _Lazy Lekku_. He’s just returned from a mission--another _failed_ mission, as his supervisor Konstantine made rather clear--to capture the loathsome rebellion insurgents. 

_Scum!_ He sneers, lips curling tight with disgust. _Rebel scum!_

Directed by a Twi’lek war general, hiding away a criminal Jedi, the accursed _Phoenix Squadron_ is responsible for tarnishing Agent Kallus’ fine reputation, and for causing him what is now a near-constant headache. Every time their shoddy freighter blips across his radar, he feels a twinge of disgust fill his nose, the ache of anger pulse in his jaw. But it’s not that the Force-user or his alien lover have caused him more distress than other rebels; it’s the fact that they are willingly harboring, in their midst, a _Lasat._

Kallus grinds the heel of his boot into the dirt. _Orrelios,_ he snarls. _Captain Orrelios._

It had come to him as no surprise that the rebel crew’s muscle had once served on the Lasan Honor Guard. Kallus himself had experienced their blood-thirst and brutality during his service on Onderon--during which his first platoon had been decimated by a single one of the beasts. Not to mention, the trouble that they’d caused the Empire during the occupation of their planet’s capitol city; never before or since has Agent Kallus seen a resistance with as much violence. 

_Monsters,_ he thinks, kicking open the door to the bar. _Uncaring, irreverent monsters._

Agent Kallus crosses the threshold of the inter-species hookup bar. His irritation must be ominous to behold, because nobody bothers him as he makes his way to the serving counter. Pulling out the wooden stool with a loud, scraping sound on the floor, he plops himself down at the bar. 

He’s ready for a heavy drink, and a fast, ragged fuck. He _doesn’t_ want to think about the rebels--about _Orrelios--_ anymore. He doesn’t want to think about how the Lasat had so _easily_ stripped the Troopers of their weapons. He doesn’t want to think of the fluid way that he’d evaded blaster fire, dancing out of the raining spray of bolts with the length of those rippling muscles. He doesn’t want to think about the way that the man had roared, fangs bared bright and dangerous in the evening starlight. 

Kallus harrumphs. He knocks his bruised knuckles against the bar. 

“Evening, handsome,” the Twi’lek bartender greets. She appears from behind the coppery taps, thick lekku framing her dimpled face and swaying down past her hips. The tattooed woman makes her way to where Kallus is sitting, leaning one of her ample, golden arms against the counter. “How very nice to see you again,” she says, eyes dark and dreamy as always. 

Agent Kallus waves a hand. _Spare me the pleasantries._

“A drink,” he orders roughly. “The usual.” The bartender shrugs. Calmly, she turns away to find him a glass, bending so that her ample hips sway in the low light. Kallus watches her rummage around for something that would be too strong for most humans--not _him--_ and begin pouring out several fingers. 

_The usual poison._

When she turns back to him, offering the chipped glass in cool silence, he sighs in exhaustion. “Sorry,” he grunts in apology. He reaches out a gloved hand, receiving the drink from the pads of her fingers. Kallus throws his head back, tossing it all down in a singular swallow. “Bad day. Bad _month_ , really.” He shakes the empty glass. “Better just do another.” 

She makes a sympathetic sound. Filling his cup up again, the bartender settles in to listen. 

“I’ve been hunting them for months now, you know?!” Kallus exclaims. He sighs again, runs a hand through his tightly-combed hair. The action tugs a few golden threads loose, falling around his face. “I’ve never been called a _failure_ before! Let alone by my _supervisor._ And now, who knows what comes next? There’s not much tolerance for things like this in the Empire.” 

She cocks an inquisitive eyebrow. Kallus rolls his eyes impatiently. 

“ _Please._ I know that you know who I am. And who I work for. And, probably, all the men that I’ve ever fucked.” He sighs, pushing the empty glass towards her. “It’s your job to keep it all a secret, after all. That’s the nature of this business, isn’t it?” He looks up from his drink, finding her smirking at him. Her heavy, dark eyes glitter with intelligence. 

It's as much of a confirmation as anything. 

_“Anyways,_ ” he mutters, nursing his drink. “I’m not here for counseling. Obviously, I’m here to get _laid.”_ He looks at her expectantly. “So. Do you happen to have anyone visiting who likes it especially rough? I’m feeling like something... _tenacious_.” When he sets his cup down on the counter, it's with a louder clink than he'd been expecting. 

The bartender's face blooms into a grin. She reaches into her ample cleavage, pulling out a pink scrap of flimsy. 

“Then you’re in luck,” she says, handing it over between two fingers. “There’s a gentleman waiting out back for something ‘especially fun.’ Said he’s feeling _victorious_ tonight, and that he really wants to go at it _hard._ So as to celebrate.” She looks at him, eyes flicking up and down, smirking. “And...he said something else, too. Stated that he has a preference..for _you.”_

Agent Kallus blinks. _A preference for_ ** _me_** _? But? Who would have…?_

Feeling unsettled, he wonders if he has, in fact, been coming here too much. He doesn't consider himself one of the regulars, and if his visits are enough for him to be a part of that crowd...Agent Kallus turns to look self-consciously over his shoulder, to where a table of the more _notorious_ bar occupants are seeded in a shady corner. 

One of them--a human male named Roy--waves back cheerfully. 

“Er, sorry,” Kallus replies, cringing. “Think that I’m looking for someone... _else_ .” He knows an ego-kink when he sees one--and _that_ guy looks an _uncanny_ amount like himself. Right down to the sandy, mutton-chopped haircut. And yet, even with all the prettiness and broad stature of the other man, he doesn’t fancy the idea of fucking ‘Agent Kallus’ right now. Not with all of this present and crushing failure. As things stand, he’d rather get farther away from himself. 

The bartender follows his eyes and snorts. “Good,” she replies. “Because it’s not from him. It’s from _Him.”_

Agent Kallus freezes. His anxious fingers suddenly still around his foggy, chipped glass, and his heart pounds loudly inside of his ears. With words like that, she could only mean to imply one possible person: his massive, elusive, alien lover. Kallus licks at his lips. Sweating, he glances down at the note clutched within his hands. 

_“If he comes back again,”_ it reads in a tight, urgent scrawl, _“I want him.”_

He inhales sharply through his nose. Agent Kallus had never actually _responded_ to the invitation that he’d received from the mystery man on that night. He’d told himself it’s because he doesn’t want to form any attachments; but, truthfully, it’s because he’d never allowed himself to consider the possibility that such a good “a time and place” could happen together again. Because, _oh,_ it had been _good:_ the thickness of his rigid, sweet-smelling, cock; the _knot_ he’d seen, locking him into place; that second and third orgasm; and of course, the sheer _volume_ of all that lilac-white spend, overflowing from Kallus’ filled mouth and into cupped hands. 

_“Yes,”_ he replies, crushing the scrap of flimsy. “ _Him_. Take me to him. Right away.” 

The bartender grins. Her not-quite human teeth glitter sharply. “I thought you might say that.” As she guides him behind the bar and down the long hallway, Kallus is already lost in his heated, racing thoughts. Already, he’s awash in lurid images of that thick knot, buried deep inside him--the scraping against his most sensitive parts, the burning roughness of over-filled flesh. 

_Maybe, he’ll let me take it down in my throat this time,_ Kallus thinks. _Maybe, I’ll figure out how to get those spines out to play. Bet they’d feel sharp and hard on my lips--_

He hardly notices that she’s left him, and that he’s stepping out into the cooling darkness. As if in a trance, Kallus is making his hurried way over to the outhouse, eyes fixed on the hanging door-sign that says “CLOSED.” 

_Open,_ Kallus thinks, pushing himself inside. 

Light filters in through the grimy darkness. There is a new layer of aurebesh markings across the peeled, wooden boards: a few holo websites, a data-pad number--and several discarded party cups upon the floor. Tutting in irritation, Kallus scoops up the littered garbage and tosses it into the half-boarded hole. _No manners,_ he thinks irritably, kneeling down upon the dirty floor. _No sense of decorum._ Ripping open his fly, he begins to palm his solid, dripping erection. 

The sound of a rumbling growl makes Agent Kallus shudder.

Mouth watering, breathless, he scoots forward upon his knees--and finds himself greeting the now _blessedly_ familiar sight of that enormous, dark-purple cock-head emerging out from one of the holes. He feels dizzy with delight, and can almost forget abut the painful failures earlier in the day. 

_“Hello there,”_ he breathes. Kallus' lips brush against the striped organ, whispering over the flesh with light kisses. “Fancy seeing _you_ here...” 

Once again, the phallus is delightfully slick-wet and _dripping_. This time, upon closer inspection, he notes that it’s ridged with a softened crown of fine, nearly-transparent nubs. Also--he notices this with a twist of delight in his stomach--the placement of it is _higher._ As though it has been chosen to be closer to his own waist-length. _Excellent._

“Did you _miss me_?” he purrs, connecting his tongue with a lingering suck. “Because I missed _you.”_

Even though he keeps his voice in a low, ragged whisper, the thrill of defying the rules rushes through him. He knows that he’s not supposed to talk here; he knows the stakes of the bar, and of what it could cost him if he’s discovered. But, no: he’s _tired_ of following etiquette. His whole kriffing _life_ is one parade of nonsense and fanfare after another. So far, it’s only seemed to bring him failure. But _tonight…_

Tonight, he is feeling _reckless._

Under his touch, the other man shudders. Kallus can feel the vibration of his movement, the ripple of powerful muscles and towering form, shivering through him from base to tip on the other side. He smiles indulgently, allowing his warm, wet breath to fan over the shaft of the cock. Already, his body is sensitized and alive with liquid desire. 

“It seems as though you _did._ You've been asking for me?” he taunts lightly, licking a bead of lubricant off the head. “And just _look_ at this mess. You’ve been getting yourself all wet and ready for me, haven’t you?” 

The other man groans. Just like last time, the slick carries with it that sweet, musky scent of spices and lavender. Agent Kallus huffs in the scent, draws his lips teasingly down the shaft, watching the gathered slick pool and fall from his tongue. It falls towards the floor in glistening ropes. _“Good,_ ” he confirms.. “Because...I got myself ready for _you.”_

That _shudder_ again. The sound of _claws_ shifting against the board. _“Mmmmnnn…”_

Kallus releases a long-withheld sigh. Normally, he has the energy to be more eloquent than this; normally, he has several flirtatious words, a soft joke or two, and he'd be able to set up a scene perfectly. _However_ , today is not that day. His tolerance is worn thin. He wants nothing more than to be fucked, and _roughly,_ in order to release his worries. The rebels. _Orrelios._

So, he decides to just put it out there.

“I’ll be frank with you,” he says dryly. “I’ve had a _very_ bad day. And there’s nothing that I would like _more_ than to forget it all with a _very_ good fuck.” He pauses, inhaling the heady, delicious smell. He cannot place it: it’s unlike anything else that he’s ever encountered. Floral and masculine all at once. “So how about this: first, I’ll show you a good time, just like we did before. And then _..._ ” He licks his lips. Heat blooms in his belly. “Then, I’m going to back myself up. Right here, against this wall. And you’re going to fuck me. In the ass. _Hard.”_

A ragged _gasp_. 

The purring noise jolts to a shuddering stop. To his pleasure, Kallus can hear the sound of it replaced by a heavy breathing. _Good._ Raising both hands to gather around the slick cock, he imagines the way that his words have fallen upon the other man’s ear. Perhaps, his mouth has fallen open, and his face is a wonton wreck. Perhaps, he is looking as hard and _hot_ as his swollen cock, with its dripping slick and thick, pulsing veins. 

“...Think you can do that for me?” he prompts. 

There is a long, low growl. For an unpleasant moment, he wonders if he’s gone too far. Not just with his request to be pounded by an alien stranger _(because, yes, that is a slightly more risky request);_ but because he’d expressed his wants so freely. _Fiercely._ Often, he works to mask the intensity of his aggression. But today has been trying, and he cannot bear to be one ounce less intimidating. _Maybe,_ he thinks, _it will work in my favor._

When he hears the voice again, it sounds ragged and desperate. _“Yeah,”_ his alien lover agrees. “ _Fuck_ yeah! Let's do it!” 

Agent Kallus can’t help it. He laughs, feeling pleasure bubble up and out of him for the first time during this Forcesaken day. With all of the same fierce, passionate heat from before, he resumes the actions of his mouth, but this time goes past the tip to swallow. In doing so, he takes the thick member half-way down to the shaft, engulfing most of it within his throat. To his satisfaction, there is a _whimpering_ sound in that hot, aroused panting as he begins to bob and shift his head. 

“ _Ahh!”_ gasps his lover. “Y-you, you sure don’ waste any time.” He chuckles weakly. 

The warmth of his humor makes him smile around the mouthful of cock. It stretches his lips, strains at the edges of his mouth, pulls at the taunt wetness of his parted lips. He hums in cheeky gratitude for the compliment, powering forward, taking in more. Acquainted with the other man's size now, Kallus bobs his head around the thick organ. _What would we look like,_ he wonders, _with no walls between us? With our skin upon skin, with his hands on mine?_ The thought makes him groan. It earns him another appreciative whimper.

 _“Heh-heh,"_ the man pants, accent rough and thick in his humor. “ _Fuck_ yer good at this.”

Kallus shivers. His mind spins with images of Wild Space creatures, of great persons towering over his stature. He thinks of massive hands gripping onto his shoulders, of claws raking down his fragile skin. Of his tender back, left with raised, brilliant marks. Groaning, he pulls his mouth off.

“Yes,” he agrees. “I may have heard that before.” 

With one hand still gripping onto the xeno cock, he begins to palm himself in the same, eager rhythm. He can hear the wet sound of his own pre-cum squelching against his clenched hand, and he is forced to restrain himself from panting aloud. He’d _really_ like to be fucked about now. Against the smoothness of his throat, he feels the pulsing of nubs and ridges. He closes his eyes as he pictures the expression upon this mysterious lover: how he'd surprise him, _delight_ him, taking most of his inhuman girth into his mouth all at once, pulling it down his throat farther than could be expected--He pumps faster into his hand when a different sort of rumble catches his attention.

“Ya say that with pride," the other man taunts, "But ya've also never had _my_ mouth on ya before...“

Kallus feels his body jerk with surprisingly powerful interest. He's made a career of being on the _giving_ end of such actions. It’s been ages since he’s been the one standing in front of the hole, receiving the amorous offerings of a stranger. The idea of it--that he could push himself into the slick, tight, hot heat of a lover--be fully engulfed, enraptured in them--makes his skin flush. "Yeah?" Kallus asks, palming the pair of them feverishly. 

_"Yeah,"_ his lover replies. Why don't ya bring that pretty lil' cock over here? Let me show ya how it's really done."

The man's voice is inviting and soft, and it does strange, liquid things to Agent Kallus' insides. It moves like captured fire, pouring over his innards and reminding him of the sheer bliss of being filled. "Everybody thinks that they're good," the man continues, "till they’ve had _me_. But once they had _this,_ they can never go back."

The spark ruptures outwards from inside Kallus' belly.

He closes his eyes, trying to picture it. _Do I want_ _his mouth on me?_ He wonders. It's not a bad thought; in fact, it's quite delicious. But it's not what he had _planned_ for this night. Rather than just doing something ragged and rough, such actions are far more _intimate_ , and speak of things _reciprocity_. Things that he doesn't have, cannot have, does not want to offer. Kallus shudders. _You don't have to go there,_ he reassures himself. _This isn't a relationship._ _Just think of the sex. Just think of: what would feel good, actually?_ Slowly fisting himself, imagining the textures, Agent Kallus explores the idea. _Do you think that you'd like it? Would you like it, to feel the_ _tug of those teeth? Would you like it, to have those sharp claws, those thick fangs, working over you?_

Sudden--unbidden--the visceral image of _rebel Orrelios_ flares in his mind. He gasps a tight, angry breath.

“ _Yes!”_ he hisses. “Yes, I want that. _Now?"_ He finds himself begging, desperate to push out and destroy this new-found alluring image away. He doesn't want to hold on. He wants to let _go._ He wants to wring every last bit of pleasure out of this moment: to _feel_ it, to be _used,_ to have his body ache and _burn_ until he thinks of nothing beyond the pounding of cells. 

“ _Now,”_ his lover agrees. From between his dripping hands, the thick cock withdraws. 

Shaking, Kallus rises to his feet. He staggers forward, shuffling clumsily out of his trousers. “ _Mmmmm,”_ the man rumbles invitingly as he bends close to the wall, replacing the cock with the shadow of his own. “Ya smell so _good.”_ Agent Kallus hears himself groan aloud in return. Leaning closer, he braces one hand upon the wall, uses the other to angle himself into the hole.

 _Yes,_ he encourages himself inwardly. _Yes. Just. let go of things. Just. Let this happen. It will feel good._

Bending his knees, crouching slightly, he angles his hips. With a grunt, he shoves his aching groin forward, pressing closer until he is flush with the wall, and his dripping cock is shoved beyond the hole. _Forget them. Forget the rebels._ _Forget Orrelios._ All it takes is for his sex to disappear into the shadow before it is taken, at once consumed with hot pleasure. 

“ _F_ _UCK!”_

Swearing loudly, he slams his spare hand to the wall. Agent Kallus forgets, grinds his hips to the hole, loses himself quickly in the sensations. It’s almost _unbelievably_ good: the unfamiliar, yet wonderful, pressure of being buried; the wet, slick slide of mouthed lubrication; the hot, firm pressure of being held. _“Ohhhh,”_ he sighs, dropping back his head. _“Fuck._ That’s. That's _good."_

It’s blissfully, _gloriously_ inhuman, too.

Mingled into the slickness of pre-cum and saliva, he can feel the sharp, hard edges of fangs pricking at the skin of his cock. Relishing every feeling, Kallus senses the way that each thrust pushes him farther and farther into the endless mouth, conjuring a picture of an _enormous_ head. He finds himself whimpering, feeling the way that the tongue--rasping and rippled like sandpaper--rushes against and over his balls. It seems to weave around his flesh, drawing him closer and gulping him in.

" _Ahh!"_

This is _working_. He is getting _lost_ in the bliss. Agent Kallus has tried to reach this before, with other Imperials, but no matter who he'd bribed into his bed, there was no way a human could sate his desire. But... _t_ _his._ _This_ is what he's always wanted: _t_ _his_ is what Agent Alexsandr Kallus is made for. The staggering _strength._ The unyielding _power._ The reckless, incredible, rebellious _danger..._

"AaAAhhHH!" he cries out. "H-harder! _Harder,_ please. _Harder."_ He needs it to _hurt._

There is a particularly long, vigorous suck in return. Agent Kallus gasps as each sopping, slick-lipped mouthful sends a spasm of movement through his hips, a jolt of fire up his spine, a scattering of heartbeats in his chest. He wonders what it would feel like to sit astride this man’s lap, feeling every one of his muscles beneath him. And if he'd stand with the man from behind...if he'd be the one, plowing into that slickened, hot flesh...

The feeling of cold air sharp on his skin jars him back. "You doin’ alright?” his lover asks. 

Agent Kallus scowls. He appreciates the check-in, but today is _not_ that day. He’d rather like to be _taken._ He’d rather like to be grasped and suspended high on the wall, to be thrusted into and _into_ again, until he forgets his name, until he forgets his own rank, or his failure, or those damn rebels. Just, not of Orrelios--

 _“F-fine!”_ he replies roughly. “Just use a little more _teeth!_ ”

Kallus yelps as the sharpness of fangs score his flesh. “OH!" he cries. When he squirms, his naked hips rubb raw against the wood. Kallus hears himself gasping, _shuddering_ against the contrasting smoothness of the throat moving against his shaft, the roughness of the tongue caressing his balls...cnce again, he is lost in the slickness and heat of his mouth, caught up in the biting of sharp, grasping teeth, picturing the azor-sharp claws piercing his skin, the flashing green eyes, the purple, striped skin--

 _“FUCK!”_ he snarls--then _screams_ as the man engulfs him entirely.

“I’m--I’m _coming!_ ” he gasps, raking his nails over the peeling wood. The combination of feelings--surprise, anger, disgust, desire--is wiping him off of his feet.“ _K_ _riff,_ I’m coming! I'm--”The hot, flooding rush of his climax overtakes him. When he comes, spurting into the other man's mouth, it is with an explosion of gasping saliva and sound. He arches against the wall. The force of his release shakes him at the knees, making him whimper and crumple against the support. Heat washes over his body, and he shouts as first one, two, then three jets of burning fluid spurts out of him in jolts.

Relishing the feeling of being spent, he relaxes against the support, feeling his headache recede for a moment. Groaning, he withdraws, sinking towards the floor. 

_Don't think about it,_ Agent Kallus repeats to himself. _Don't let it happen. Just be in this moment. Just feel the ache in your bones. The fire in your gut. The way that he moved you. The way that you want to be moved. Don't worry about who, or how, or why. Just be here. Just feel this. You don't have to think, don't have to--_

“And _now,_ ” a ragged, breathless voice growls. "Ya can g _-give it to me._ If. Ya still _w_ _anna_." 

And _oh,_ although his body is spent, dear _maker,_ Agent Kallus _wants._ Gritting his teeth, he gathers his strength, shuffles himself away from the wall. Kallus turns himself to face the opposite direction, forcing his quaking thighs and trembling knees to behave. If he'd had the presence of mind, he would have done things the other way first; but he, ultimately, he regrets _nothing._ Once again, the man is proving to be the best fuck of his _life._ And he only wants to lose himself in it. 

Turning, bending over, Kallus folds himself in half. He presses the smooth, bare curve of his ass against the glory hole. 

_"Hard,”_ he reminds the other firmly. _“_ Harder than you suspect. Hard as you can manage.” 

There is a soft growl of confirmation. Kallus tenses as he feels the tickle of steaming breath ghosting over the bared cleft of his ass. With a moan of anticipation, he reaches back with one hand, gripping for hold upon one plump asscheek. Fingers trembling, he spreads himself open wide against the hole, parting his body to be used. 

"With _pleasure,"_ his lover growls. And, with the rough, wet slide of a tongue, it begins. 

The shifting, wet muscle of tongue moves against his loosened entrance, and Agent Kallus groans. With the hand that is keeping his body spread open, he digs his fingernails into his flesh. The bite of pain makes him hiss, aching for more, anchoring him into this moment. Keeping his mind from wandering, wondering.

“Aw, ya really _did_ get yerself ready for me!” the other man purrs. “Just _look_ at ya, all wet and open fer me!” 

Strangely enough, the praise makes him groan. His spent cock gives a little twitch. Yes, Kallus _had_ taken a moment--not so many, and _not_ so gentle--to work himself open before the fact. In the interest of getting himself a quick, hearty fuck, he’d made certain to wash and wet himself thoroughly. But given his level of experience, the preparation might not be as necessary for himself as others. However, based on the _size_ of his partner...now he is feeling glad that he'd actually done the regular maintenance. 

_“F-fuck,”_ he pants as he feels the tongue press his entrance. "Fuck me. _Hard."_

"I'm _gettin' there,_ love." 

Kallus groans, dropping both hands to brace himself. The other man hums cheerfully, burying his face between his spread cheeks. It would seem from the way that his softly-furred face shuffles into his ass that the alien has a more flattened features. Determined to not think of it, he relishes the hot, jagged feeling of _fangs_ pressing into the softer flesh.

The alien man kisses into his body, licking and breathing him open. “Like a _peach,”_ he huckles. “A ripe, autumn peach. All fer _me.”_

Then, he _bites._

Kallus screams out his pleasure. He takes it all back: _this, here,_ is what he’s always wanted. _T_ _his,_ the _new_ moment, is what he’s been waiting for. Yes, the blowjob before that was wonderful--but _now_ is the moment of mind-bending pain-meets-pleasure. The kind that he'd wanted. In which he screams out his want, and he feels it answered. It doesn't matter who is giving to him. It doesn't matter that it could be--

He gasps, grinding back into the wall. Agent Kallus writhes, wriggling his hips closer than ever before.

 _If only there was no wall between us,_ he thinks, hazy with lust. _If only I was spread out before you, tangled between your sheets. If only--_ There is another suckling sound, and a tender kiss is planted over the earlier bite. He whimpers as the man teases at the bruised layer between thick, pliant lips. There will likely still be a bite-mark at dawn. 

“G-get on with it,” he pants, feeling wild and desperate. “I’m ready. Just go. Please. _Harder."_

"I hear you," the other replies.

Kallus is about to attempt and persuade him of the endeavor when he feels the round, soft curve of a cock-head pressing against his crevice. With that glorious feeling, his rugged demands turn into a whimper, and he shoves himself backwards. Jaw hanging open, openly panting, he tries to swallow up what is being offered at such a close distance. trying to swallow up what is being so teasingly offered at a distance.

“Oh, ya want this?” the voice asks, playful. “Do ya think that you've earned it?” 

Agent Kallus shudders violently. _No._ He _knows_ that he isn't worth anything. He knows that, in fact, he is nothing more than a two-credit whore: an embarrassment to the Empire, a failure in all of his missions, a man who cannot make himself enough to just be satisfied with what life has to offer. He has to want what he cannot have. He has to want the rebel--

The feeling of slick-smooth, _luscious_ head enters him, clearing his thoughts. "Well, _I_ do," his lover growls. "And that's what matters." 

If he had more presence of mind, he'd correct him. He would say something about himself being a failure. He would say something about letting his army and Empire down; about not being able to capture the rebels; about being a fuck-up of a man, who continually avoid his own healing, and seeks out a shoddy bar to avoid thoughts and sensations. But he does _not_ do this. He wants to let _go._ So he bites down on his lip, thrusts himself against the hole, and savors the breach of his opening muscle. 

"K- _Karabast!"_ The other man groans, his voice shaking and broken with want. "Yer. Yer so _good._ _Yeah."_

Kallus closes his eyes. _Yes. I can pretend._ Imagining the face of a lover, picturing fingers that lace with his own, Agent Kallus shivers as the trembling shaft enters his body. He feels the nubs, the ridges. He feels the sharpness of spines, clinging against his skin. He feels the heat of another body, hears the groan of another man's pleasure at taking his. His spine arches, his body contracts. 

He closes his eyes, and thinks of Orrelios. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think. I am sustained by your kudos and comments.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things finally catch up with Kallus. It doesn't end well.

* * *

**THREE**

* * *

When Alexandr Kallus stumbles into the _Lazy Lekku,_ he can barely keep his directions in order.

There are times that he’s visited the interspecies bar to escape the pressures and exhaustion of brutal Imperial work. There are times that he’s come just to seek out a touch: to remind himself that he has his own body, his own autonomous mind, no matter what he has to endure as a soldier. Too often, he’s walked into here angry; and more often than not, he’s walked away tired, sated only in body, but not in mind. And tonight, he is coming here _desperate._ He’s in painful need of putting the swirling, erratic thoughts that constantly plague his mind to bed. 

Because he _must_ be wrong. This suspicion about his alien stranger is _nonsense._

Stumbling up to the bar, Kallus slams down a handful of credits. The bartender--a different woman than usual--gazes at him with a curious look. “What’ll it be, sugar?” she asks. The Nautilan’s pink, tattooed eyebrows are thick, and one of them rises in mock suspicion. “You’re looking thirstier than a bantha who’s been lost in the desert!” 

Kallus looks around, craning to see if the heavy-eyed bar owner is there. “Is Honey around?” he asks, trying not to sound anxious. “I usually talk to her when I come around...” 

The annoyed expression on the Nautilus woman’s face makes him blush and raise his hands. “Look, I’m sure you’re great at your job! It’s nothing personal. I just--I just have to ask her--Honey knows, this one time, I mean, one time she got for me this piece of flimsy, and there was writing on it, and--” the bartender reaches out, pressing a slim finger over his parted lips. 

“Wait a moment,” she says. “If you can try and sit _still_ for a moment, I’ll get her.” 

He wags his head in agreement. She releases him and walks away, pausing for a moment at one of the taps to pour a neon-green beer for a waiting patron. He feels a wave of relief as she exits the bar, making her way down the shadowy hallway. _Honey will know what is going on,_ he thinks with relief, wiping the sweat that sticks to his brow. _She’ll be able to talk me down from all this delusion. Absolutely. Because she knows every patron._

Agent Kallus’ heartbeat thumps painfully in anticipation as he waits. 

From the corner of the bar, he sees a table of regulars, including his bubbly doppelganger, relaxing and talking over a pint. For a moment, his heart twinges painfully inside of his chest. What would it be like, to have friends that he could talk to about his suspicions? _Probably,_ Kallus thinks, adjusting his splinted leg, _just further embarrassment._ For a moment, he considers pouring out his concerns to someone like Lyste; then, he shakes his head rapidly, casting away the unfortunate image. _No! I could never trust another Imperial with something like this._

When the golden-skinned Twi’lek emerges from the darkened hallway, Kallus sags with relief. He holds himself back from the impulse to wave, and waits for the plump, tattooed woman to approach him.

“Well, look who it is!” Honey drawls, her sleepy eyes sliding up and down his form. “And aren’t you a _sight_ . What happened, pick a fight with a Rancour?” Kallus shoots her a sour look and adjusts his splinted leg. He’s aware of the greenish-blue bruise that still shadows his eyes, the sign of frostbite around his ears. “Never-mind that,” he replies tightly, forgoing a put-together response. “I’m here because I need to know something _important_.” 

The urgency in his voice immediately puts the easy-going woman on edge. Kallus knows that she is far more intelligent than she pretends, and watches the lines harden around her smokey-outlined eyes. _Please,_ he thinks, begging her internally. _Please, don’t make this any harder for me than it already is._ However, he suspects that she knows what he is after; and the look that she’s giving him isn’t playful or mysterious: it is closed. 

“What kind of information?” Honey asks, crossing her arms. The action makes her ample cleavage shift to the forefront, and Kallus thanks the stars for his gayness. 

“The gentleman that I’ve been seeing,” he replies, forcing himself to be calm. _Don’t push. Be polite. You’re just asking._ A bead of sweat drips down his brow, trickles down his neck. “Informally, I mean. The one that I’ve ended with more than once behind the bar. He’s asked for me before, right? Gave you that scrap of flimsy with his comm number?” 

The Twi’lek bartender’s look closes even more tightly. 

“Look. I know that here at the _Lek_ you have a strict policy of discretion.” Kallus hurries forward. “I know that it isn’t…” he rapidly seeks for the best words, “... _polite_ to ask for more details after a hookup. But I _must_ know more information about the man in question. I _have_ to seek out answers.” The sudden memory of Garazeb Orrelios’ lush, purple lips forming those very words sends a shudder through him. “ _Please._ What can you tell me? You _must._ I must know about him.”

Kallus realizes that he is begging. He also realizes that he has clearly crossed over a line of the hookup bar’s policy, judging by the stormy gaze upon Honey’s face.

The other Nautilus woman is hovering just behind her shoulder, galaxy eyes darting forward and back as she takes in the scene. As Agent Kallus watches the bar-owner chew at her lip, he wonders if he’s pushed things too far. Might as well go on and risk everything. “...I can pay you?” he whispers. He leans forward, drawing back his cloak. Beneath it, sitting against his hip, a bulging bag filled with credits sits at his side. “I have more credits here than all of your clients. Just name your price, and I’ll give it to you?” The illegal bribe spills from his lips, filling him with the terrible thrill of rebellion. “I must know. _Please.”_

Honey’s plush mouth is set in a stern line. She looks over her shoulder at the Nautilan woman, who seems to be hanging upon every word.

Sighing, she leans in. “ISB Twenty-Nine,” she says, speaking low enough to only be heard in a whisper. “You _know_ that we _cannot_ and _will_ not sell secrets. If I did, your own identity would be on the line.” 

Agent Kallus is stone-still in horror. _She knows,_ he realizes with a sickening feeling. He’d always suspected that Honey had guessed his employer; but he hadn’t realized the depth of her knowledge, and how she might actually _use_ that information. Stomach twisting, he wonders about the dangers of such leverage. _Has anyone ever come looking for me?_ he panics, a new form of anxiety rising within him. _Not as a lover, but as a foe, seeking to undo my promotion?_ He shudders, thinking of what someone like Pryce could do with such information about his preferred shore-leave activities...

“...I understand,” he replies softly. Feeling perhaps more distressed than before, Kallus pushes away from the bar. “I’d better be going now. I. Thank you. And…” 

The Twi’lek bartender reaches out quickly and grasps him. Her sharp, black-painted fingernails dig into his arm, reminding him for a brief second of the way that the rebel Lasat had gripped him with his claws. Kallus shivers at the sensation as Honey leans forward, breathing a warm whisper into his ear. “I can’t give you information like _that,”_ she says, lips brushing his skin. “But what I _can_ tell you is that he’s _here._ And that he’s _waiting_ for you. Out back.” 

Kallus gasps and closes his eyes.

The closeness, the _warmth_ of intimate breath on his skin takes him back to Bahryn--and to the questions that have been consuming every moment of his waking thoughts _(as well as every strung-out, desperate, moment of his yearning nights)_ since he’d returned to the Empire. Lips trembling, heart quaking, Kallus gives his rushed response: “Y-yes. Take me to him. _Please._ ” 

One way or another, he will soon have his answers. 

* * *

_Every inch of his body burns._

_Agent Alexsandr Kallus groans, rolling his head side to side, testing to see if his neck is broken. There is a jolt of pain down the length of his spine, pinching from where the base of his skull rests against the hard floor of the escape pod. He huffs a tight breath, feeling hot air prickle and itch inside of his chest. Several of my ribs must be broken, Kallus thinks to himself. He forces open his eyes, blinking through stinging, sweaty tears to take in the erratic flash of red hazard lights. Crashed. With broken ribs, and possibly a broken leg. There is a low, rumbling sound of a growl beside him, and Kallus stiffens. It aches, sending another blaze of pain lurching through his body. Crashed, and alone….with Garazeb Orrelios._

_He doesn’t have enough time to sort through the rush of sensations--anger, confusion, fear, lust --within his body, before the larger man’s hands are tugging upon his bo-rifle. “W-wait!” Kallus snarls._

_If he wasn’t in such pain, he would fight back. Instead, it is all he can do but cry out in rage as Orrelios pulls the weapon out of his weakened grasp, turning and stalking away towards the door. He gasps and clutches his leg, watching the healthy and powerful movements of the Lasat as he presses one four-fingered hand upon the door panel, revealing a wild and white-out blizzard beyond. Not injured, he winces, applying firm pressure to his wound. Not good. Things could end here, for me._

_“W-what are you doing?” he gasps as the rebel turns and pins him with a fierce, green gaze._

_Orrelios stalks over, seizing him with his enormous, clawed hands. Kallus yelps in feeble protest as his enemy’s powerful, purple hands drag him bodily towards the open door. If he wasn’t so riddled with pain, and clutched within the grip of his enemy , he would find the sheer size of the other man’s four-fingered hands to be incredibly hot. One of them alone wraps around his whole biceps, handling him with excessive strength._

_“What’re you--ahhh!”_

_The world spins around him as Kallus is tossed head-first into a snowbank. Flakes spiral around him as he gazes up at the blizzarding sky, the numbing sensation of sub-zero cold seeping into his wounds pleasantly sweet. His moment of peacefulness ends when the sooty, black muzzle of a bo-rifle is pressed to the space between his eyes. "I’m just thinkin’ about how easy I could crush yer head,” Orrelios growls--and that appealing image does nothing to suppress his blooming arousal. ( With those thighs? Kallus wonders.) “But m’also thinkin’ that it’d be better to let ya heal up. So that we can finish our fight fair an’ square.”_

_It takes a moment for the Lasat’s set of words to pass through and register._

_Kallus blinks, clearing the heady rush of adrenaline, lust and pain from his mind. What? He stares up at the other man, who is now extending a hand to assist him. Cautiously, he takes it. “Ah. So you’re expecting your rebel friends to come to your rescue?” he asks, allowing himself to be hoisted to standing. Don’t let him see your vulnerability, he thinks to himself, pressing forward with a biting, cynical front. Don’t let him see your pain. He might be acting merciful now, but if he discovers how weak you truly are, this is over. “More likely, it will be the Empire,” he grunts. “Your friends fled...and you will be captured.”_

_Garazeb Orrelios rolls his eyes. His ears flatten back against his head, and he drops Kallus back on his ass. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen.”_

_Kallus gasps and clutches at his leg. It burns in his hands, and he cannot help the moan of pain that slips from between his lips as he turns to adjust the wound. He wishes that he had some measure of privacy; he wishes that he was not sitting here, so exposed, before his enemy. But he is in too much pain to avoid things now, and so he twists and adjusts his leg underneath him until it has been extended again. It makes his body shake, and he grits his teeth._

_“...Yer hurt?”_

_Looking up, Agent Kallus sees that the Lasat is crouching down beside him. He hadn’t seen the other man return from his exploration of the crashed pod, but it appears as though he’s brought back some kind of lanturn, along with the twisted transponder. It also appears as though his gaze is sweeping over Kallus with a look of concern. That doesn’t make sense._

_“N-not very,” Kallus lies. He doesn’t see the merit of being honest with his nemesis. “Probably just a minor sprain. And all of this cold should dampen the pain.”_

_The Lasat grunts and looks around them. His heavy, striped brow furrows as he assesses the landscape, taking in the distant mouth of the cave and the darkening sky. The escape pod seems to have crashed through some kind of surface layer of ice, and dropped them into the lair of a tri-footed creature. Kallus looks wistfully at his removed bo-rifle, wishing that he could crawl towards it._

_“That’s not gonna happen, either,” the rebel states. However, his ears suddenly perk upward, as though he’s had an idea. “Ah! Wait here…”_

_Kallus watches with increasing surprise as the other man gathers up his cast-aside rifle, tears a strip off of his own weapon, and kneels down beside his fallen enemy. With more gentleness than he would have expected from such a powerful creature, the Lasat begins to bind up his wound, splinting his leg with the brace of his weapon. “Two Loth-rats with one stone,” Orrelios says cheerily, cinching the material with a sharp tug that makes Kallus hiss. “This way, ya can walk along with my support--an’ I don’t haveta worry about you shootin’ me in the back while I’m not lookin.”_

_To cover his swirling mix of emotions, Kallus forces an insulted huff from his lips._

_“I would never conduct myself in such a dishonorable manner,” he states. The Lasat reaches out for him, and again, with surprise, Kallus takes his arm. “I consider myself a man who has standards.” When Orrelios snorts, Kallus resists the urge to punch him squarely in the smirking jaw. “It’s true!” he snaps. “You wait until we get out of this mess. I’ll take you on in a square battle, and win.”_

_For some reason, this makes the Lasat pause. He stops in his shuffling through the snow, glances down at Kallus with viridescent eyes gleaming. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replies quietly._

_They stare at each other for a long moment. Too long. Kallus feels a blush rising under his wind-burned cheeks; an uncomfortable squirming inside of his gut; that deeply-repressed, burning feeling of want coiling from inside of his belly. Instead, he forms his mouth into a tight line, and he turns his head to look up and out of the cave. “Come now,” he says in a voice of command. “We’d best get going. It’ll be night soon.”_

_One arm around him, Orrelios jostles him slightly. His ears twitch with humor. He smiles._

_“Now, Agent Kallus…” he purrs, voice low and rumbling. “...Don’t tell me that yer afraid of the dark ?”_

* * *

Kallus stumbles into the hazy alleyway behind the bar, tripping over the uneven ground in the low light of the evening. 

It takes him extra effort to manage himself with this _kriffing_ leg, and he finds himself wincing as he strides towards the old, dingy outhouse with more haste than is acceptable. He resists the impulse to raise a knuckle and rap upon the door, as if he were entering another man's house. Which is ridiculous, because he has been here--if not for many months--more often than many other patrons. 

Inside of his chest, his heart pounds with a sickening fear. 

_Breathe,_ he thinks to himself, staggering up towards the familiar outhouse door. _Get a hold of yourself._ Reaching up, he runs trembling fingers through his blond, sandy hair, pulling sweaty threads from his flushed, clammy skin. _In just a few moments, you’re going to find that these worries are utterly baseless._ Gazing up at the familiar sign, he pushes a hand against the peeling-paint door. _You’re going to find out your answers, and get some relief. You’ll be able to sleep again at night--and, stars! If nothing else, you’ll at least get another good fuck out out of this._

Licking his lips, he pushes inside. 

The room is dim, dirty and dank: all things as usual. The air is hot and heavy with musk, scented with the salty richness of bodily fluids. New numbers have been scrawled upon the walls, showing a month’s worth of hookups since he had been there. Agent Kallus has avoided the place ever since-- _no._ He stops himself abruptly, not allowing his anxiety to take over his thoughts again. _No need to think about_ that.

Narrowing his eyes, Kallus searches for the familiar, waist-high hole drilled into the wood. 

Apparently, his guest has not yet arrived, so Kallus takes a moment to get comfortable. _Relief,_ he thinks, unzipping the fly of his trousers. _Relief from the suspicions that haunt me. Relief from the doubts that busy my mind._ Taking his softened member in hand, he begins to fondle himself into hardness. Biting down on his lip, Kallus gropes a handful of sensitive skin as he cradles his balls to join with his shaft. _Maybe even relief from the nightmares that haunt me._

Because Agent Kallus can hardly call them dreams. Not when they feature desire for his former enemy. 

_“Hhhnnnggg_ …” he groans, blooming quickly to an almost painful hardness at the thought. Huffing out the quiet words, doing his best to keep as silent as possible, Kallus allows the illicit name to fall from his lips. It's the same one that he's been gasping aloud every night since the ice moon--it's the one that he's watched the holo-net for, dogging the man at every possible opportunity, searching to see if he was drawing closer. 

“Z- _zeb…”_

From behind the wall, there is an answering growl. 

* * *

_Dangling from the frigid stalactite, Garazeb Orrelios bellows commands._

_Kallus, swaying from upon his back, can see the way that his claws have been driven several inches deep into the icy surface. He finds himself once again in the odd position of feeling distinctly turned on, even though he is at the mercy of his nemesis ( and meters away from a Bonzami snack). He wonders what those hands would feel like gripping his ass; what it would feel like for these strong, flexing muscles gripped between his thighs to be purposeful, moving against him--_

_“Hold still!” Orrelios shouts, “And let's just hope that this works!”_

_Out of breath, leg aching, Kallus shakes his head. “Hope what works?!” he asks incredulously. Up until now, the rebel has been in luck: some of that starry hope that he’d claimed the rebellion had seemed to rub off on him, helping them to first find that glowing, warm meteorite, and then, to evade the first wave of predators. But Kallus isn’t all that sure he wants to test the boundaries of this newfound hope; after all, it seems fragile to bet on such intangible things._

_“What’re you--AAAHHHHHHH!!!”_

_Kallus screams as he is flung by the Lasat’s feet towards the rocky ceiling, bo-rifle extending at the nose blade._

_His heart pounds wildly as he hears a loud crunch, and realizes that he’s been anchored against the frigid structure. “You’re--you’re insane!” he shouts to the other man, body swaying from the minor point of contact. “And you’re--” but he doesn't finish that sentiment, as he notices the ice fracturing into splinters around the rifle’s nose. "N-no ! No, no no no--” as he begins to slip._

_To make matters worse, Orrelios seems to be falling from the sky behind him._

_Unable to see what is happening to the other man, Kallus feels his stomach twist with a sickening dread at the snapping and snarling of the monster's beaked jaws below. His mind searing with panic, Kallus reaches up and scrabbles at the failing anchor of his extended bo-rifle. The ice crumbles around the sharp blade of the nose, and with a spiraling feeling of despair, he knows he is only moments from falling to his death._

_“No, no no--”_

_However--for the second time that evening--a set of powerful, purple, clawed hands wrap around him._

_When Kallus falls, Orrelios catches him. Gasping, he feels he feels himself gathered into a thick and powerful chest, strong fingers wrapped tightly around his waist. Even with the chill of the ice moon around them, Agent Kallus can feel the heat of the Lasat's body as it radiates off of the other man. Shivering, Kallus even thinks that he can hear his heartbeat beneath that strong chest. In this moment, a whole new sensation washes over him: an utter, deeply-contented stillness. It seems strange, in the midst of battle; but, in this moment of immanent death, held by his enemy, Kallus feels strangely and utterly safe._

_Then, the moment is over. He's instead being thrown once again towards the cave's entrance._

_“Gara-AAAAHH!” a mouthful of snow greets Agent Kallus. Gasping, he once again lands face-down in a snowbank, hands splayed out and his injured leg lurching. The sound of his shrieked pain is muffled by layers of ice and snow, and he spits out what might be a hunk of glacier. “Garazeb!” he shouts, pushing himself up into a crouch and searching for the other man.“Garazeb Orrelios?”_

_There is a flicker movement beneath the ice, and Kallus scrambles forward. He grabs hold of the rifle resting in the snow._

_Peering over the edge, he sees the other man suspended there. His big, purple claws are digging into a slick ridge of ice, and his hold is slipping slightly as he scrambles for purchase. Below him, the drooling and snarling Bonzami snap their jaws, their fledgling wings stirring up gusts of snow. Agent Kallus gazes into the rebel Lasat's eyes, noticing for the first time that they hold an expression of fear. He raises the blaster. With a ringing sound, he shoots at a hissing monster below._

_“Here!” Kallus says, reaching down and offering his open hand. With a look of gratitude, Garazeb Orrelios takes it. "Hold on to me. I'll try to pull us both up."_

_If they’d only had Kallus’ strength to rely on, he might not have been able to help the Lasat. But, as it is, the Lasat's upper-body is incredibly strong; and he pulls his own weight up easily. Nonetheless, it takes every last bit of wind out of Kallus, and force him to stagger back and catch his breath. When he looks up, the other man is staring at him once again. Like the first time, the gaze seems to linger._

_“B-better activate that transponder,” Kallus finally says, shuddering against the howl of the wind. “It’s a lot colder up here than it was down there. We won’t last long.” He watches the other man bend down, gathering up the fallen meteorite. For the briefest moment, he wonders if the Lasat will keep it to himself; but he needn't have worried. When the Lasat looks up at him, his face is warm as the stone in his hands._

_Garazeb Orrelios presses the precious rock into Kallus' chest._

_“Rather freeze to death than be eaten,” the Lasat jokes, flashing him a crooked grin. It seems genuine--one lower fang popping up from his plush lower lip--and strangely enough, it makes the heart within his chest thunder. “But don’t ya worry, there, Agent: m’not gonna let ya turn into an icicle. Not on my watch.”_

_Clutching the stone to his chest, blooming with warmth from the inside-out, Kallus leans into the offered arm. He limps, slowly and steadily, with Garazeb Orrelios through the storm._

* * *

“Y-yer _here_ ,” a baritone, _hungry_ voice rumbles. 

Agent Kallus gasps with sensation. The rich, musky smell of lavender and spice is thick in the air. A bead of cre-cum leaks sympathetically from the head of his cock, slicking and sensitizing his skin _T-that scent. From the ice moon._ Wetness spreads against the flesh of his palm, making each heated stroke more and more pleasurable. _N-no. I must be mistaken--_

“Well of _course_ I’m here,” he answers, voice a harsh whisper. "I come here as often as I can, don’t I?” 

As the other man chuckles, a thrill of terrible fear jolts through him. Kallus scolds himself for the fearful emotion. _There is no reason that I should be afraid. Yes, it’s against the rules; but we always talk. There is no problem here._

_It’s not as though he knows my voice._

“That’s the goal, yeah,” his mysterious, alien lover growls. The sound of his lust sends a shudder through Agent Kallus’ body, making his hips lurch forward in search of even more friction. “Makin’ ya come. And if I can get somethin’ outta this, too…” 

Kallus groans, thrusting a dry finger inside. Last time, he’d spent hours carefully working himself open, in anticipation for their heated encounter; but this time, it is all that he can do to reach behind and finger himself. Roughly, he thrusts against the flexed muscle, not pausing against the burn of intrusion. 

“Lemme help you with that,” offers the other voice. There is a wet, slurping sound, and the familiar sight of an unsheathed, thick, purple cock emerges from the shadows. “Use somma this, if ya like.” 

_That scent. That color._

Kallus grits his teeth, forcing his thoughts away roughly. Withdrawing the hand from his backside, he surges forward against the now-filled glory hole. He doesn’t wait for any preamble, but grips onto the dripping shaft _fiercely,_ gathering translucent slick in his hands. The roughness, apparently, is something good for the man on the other side; his lover _growls_ as Kallus strokes rapidly, collecting a handful of dripping, wet musk. 

“Y-yer in a hurry tonight, huh?” the alien asks, huffing a tense laugh. 

_That accent._

Bile is rising in Kallus’ throat. Pushing back the swell of emotions, he forces entry into himself with the now well-lubricated hand. Even given the tension inside of his body, Kallus groans with pleasure at the feeling of fitting two fingers within him. He pushes them knuckle-deep, slips them back and forth, scissoring them to make greater room for entry. 

“I’m...m’glad that you still decided to show,” the other voice says hesitantly. 

Warning sirens blare within Kallus’ head. His throat burns with acid. He feels dizzy. Shaking his head back and forth to clear the ringing, he shuffles his hips forwards towards the hole. It’s an awkward side-step: trousers and underwear pushed past his knees, one braced leg dragging heavily behind him. But he doesn’t want pity; he doesn’t _need help._ Following the pattern of their last encounter, he turns and presses his ass against the opening. 

“Uh. Y-you. You don’t wanna talk about this first?...” 

Rather than the alien, it is _Kallus_ who releases an impatient growl. Pushing against the wall, writhing with rage and impatience, he blocks out the memory of that familiar voice. “What do we have to talk about?!” he snaps, bracing his hips and searching for friction. “I’m here. You’re here. We want each other.” 

There is a long silence. Kallus groans and swears under his breath. “ _Stars!_ Just-- _fuck me already!”_

_Something is wrong._

Rather than hearing the ragged, wanting sounds on the other side of the wall, Kallus hears a sad sigh of resignation. He doesn’t feel the ghost of hot breath over the cleft of his ass; instead, he feels heat drawing _away_ from him, as though the other figure stepped back. 

Kallus is _furious._

He had come here for answers--or at _least_ a thorough kriffing--and it seems as though he is leaving without both. Underneath his skin, there is a twitching and burning sensation. The inside of his head is ringing with bells. He feels as though each and every breath is fighting with effort, as though he is trapped inside an escape pod. _The ice moon. The crash. Sleeping together--_

“...This isn’t gonna work out,” the other voice says. It is slow and careful, but it feels more like someone is shouting at him. 

Or, perhaps, striking at him. Because Agent Kallus snarls and staggers away from the hole, as though the words have a physical impact. He reaches down, grasping at his pants and his flagging erection. He’s not sure if it is sweat or tears that are burning at his eyes, but he finds himself blinking away the stinging sensation. As he tucks himself inside of his trousers, hands fumbling over the Imperial-issued zip, he attempts to swallow the rising lump in his throat. 

He cannot _breathe._

“I don’t wanna hurt ya, Kallus--” 

The name erupts within him like a _bomb_.

All of the tension, the questions, the _fear_ bubbling just under his skin rushes out from Alexsandr Kallus, making him reel against the wall of the building. _“K-kriff!”_ he gasps, splaying a hand against the wall for support. He feels his stomach lurching knees shaking as the horrible revelation washes over and consumes him.

_I_ _t’s Zeb. It’s Zeb. It’s Zeb. It’s--_

“--Karabast! Are ya alright over there?!” His former enemy’s voice is filled with concern. Kallus doubles over and retches, but nothing comes out of his dry, acrid throat. _Zeb. It’s--_ Gasping, eyes streaming, he pushes himself up to standing. His knees are shaking. His vision is blurred. Agent Kallus can no longer discern the formation of words coming out of Zeb’s mouth; he only knows that the other man is talking, and that his carefully-crafted world is crumbling around him. 

_All this time. It’s always been--_

“Hey, I’m worried about ya!” the rough voice of the man who is _undeniably_ Garazeb Orrelios insists. “Open up the door and let me in there, okay? Karabast. I knew that this was a bad idea. Kallus, c’mon, it’s just me--let me in--”

 _T-thats the problem!_ Kallus screams inside of his head. Shouldering open the door, he pours himself out into the darkness. Crawling on his hands and knees, he scrambles forward through the littered debris of the grim alleyway and begins to run away from the _Lek._ Agent Kallus does not look back; he _cannot_ look back _._ He cannot see, with his eyes, confirmation of what he’s just learned; he cannot _feel_ what he feels, the thundering, heart-breaking ache inside of his chest. 

_Zeb._

Heaving with sickness and gasping for breath, Alexsandr Kallus staggers away into darkness. He drags his broken and burning leg behind him.

* * *

_Alexsandr Kallus has never been more comfortable._

_The smell of lavender and spice surrounds him. He is blissfully warm, with his hands and face nuzzled into soft, fuzzy fur. When he breathes, he inhales in the unique, sweet-and-spicy blend of musk rolls off the Lasat’ sleeping body. When Zeb breathes, his chest swells beneath Kallus, suspending him for a moment as he rises and falls with the natural rhythms of his resting body._

_My...enemy...Kallus thinks, blinking dreamily through the forest of shaggy fur on Zeb’s chest. No. Not my enemy. Or my friend. But maybe...my ally..._

_The night had grown colder and colder, less comfortable. Even with the meteorite, Kallus had shuddered in the frigid wind, scooting back against the rock of their shelter. Garazeb--or, “Zeb,” as he’d introduced himself (so intimate)--had tried his best to keep him occupied. They’d talked about his morals; his career; even Lasan. Zeb had revealed what had happened with those ion cannons, and Kallus had confessed and repented. The conversation that followed was unexpected, but one of the more intimate ones that had ever happened in Kallus’ lifelong memory: Seek answers. Seek justice. What do you really know about the Empire? By the time that the howling wind had died down, Kallus was shivering from head to toe, and even his lips had begun to turn blue._

_That was when Zeb had unzipped his jumpsuit, pulling the human man into his chest._

_“We should share body-heat,” his former enemy said. “Your core temperature is dangerously low. M’doin’ fine: Lasats are all kinds of adaptable. We have all sorts of biomes, back on my planet.” Before Kallus had been able to protest--to remind him of their hours-long conversation, in which he had stated his actual participation in killing that planet--the other man had wrapped him into his arms. Gathered him against his chest, held him close to his beating heart. “Try’n get some rest,” Zeb had said. “It’ll be easier in the light of the mornin.’”_

_Held in the warm, safe embrace of this man, Kallus falls into a restful sleep._

_And when he wakes up in the morning--their warm bodies tangled together; Zeb's thick, four-fingered hands gently holding his head; the scent of spice and lavender wafting around him; cradled against his warm, fuzzy chest--he knows that nothing, not anything, in his life will ever be the same._

* * *

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain questions are answered. Love (and hate) is involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up on a potential squick! This chapter involves a POV & sexual intimacy with another character (Roy) before arriving at the Kalluzeb endgame. I promise that it will all work out nicely, but I want you to be aware of what you're getting yourself into. Also, on that note I should probably add a note for exhibitionism/ voyeurism. (ROYeurism?) Thanks!

* * *

**...ELEVEN MONTHS LATER...**

* * *

When Mitth'raw'nuruodo steps into the shaded grime of the _Lazy Lekku,_ it’s just as seedy as he’d always imagined. The shadowy interior of the bar reveals the true nature of its intentions: to provide an out-of-the-Emperor’s-eye location for the young, amorous new recruits to fraternize with their alien partners. 

_Or so one would think,_ the Grand Admiral smirks, his thin, blue-hued lips tugging into a curl. _And yet, nothing escapes the sight of the Empire. We have eyes...everywhere._

Indeed, his own crimson-red glow is currently scanning the crowd of chattering and drinking patrons as he walks through the evening darkness of the bar. In most locations, a Chiss male such as himself would stand out like a dragging leg or poorly-feigned accent; however, in a place such as the _Lek_ , neither the dusty-blue tone of his skin nor the high, arched curves of his brow look any more out of place than his distinctly-alien eyes. Even so, he is still wearing a cloak and green solar-glasses in disguise. 

With careful footsteps, Mitth'raw'nuruodo makes his way up to the wooden countertop of the bar. 

“Good evening,” he says to the woman behind the bar in his smoothest, most pleasant of voices. Sinking down into the chair, he draws the lenses away from his eyes. “May I bother you for a few moments of your time?” 

The woman behind the bar turns to him, flipping one of her hefty lekku over a golden-orange, speckled shoulder. _She is...intelligent,_ Mitth'raw'nuruodo reflects. _Keen, golden eyes that scan me up and down. A carefully calculated exterior, crafted to present herself as one who is approachable, sedate. Clearly, she is in charge here...attuned to the inner movements and motivations of her clientele...and will likely not reveal their secrets._

“For you, handsome? Sure,” she replies in a sultry, low-pitched voice. “You new around here?” 

_Flirtatious. Sensual. A most lovely and eye-pleasing figure,_ Mitth'raw'nuruodo thinks. _This woman is quite skilled in her arts. She must be most distracting to those who appreciate the femanine wiles. But for those such as myself…_ “Not exactly,” he replies, drawing his cape over his shoulder. “I have, in fact, visited here a time or two. I find your esteemed venue to be most...intriguing.” 

The bartender lifts one tattooed eyebrow. She seems both impatient with and impressed by his eloquent nature. 

“Acquainted with our menu, huh? Well, those Rodian boys came in here looking for a good time,” she suggests, looking down the bar meaningfully. “Or were you hoping for something a little more _sturdy_?” When she smiles, her glimmering teeth are sharpened to inhuman points. “We’ve got a crew of Wookiee patrons passing through.” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo leans his elbows against the counter, steepling his fingers. 

“Ah, no. Thank you _._ But we are indeed approaching the nature of my visit: I am here in pursuit of a particular guest. One whom I have been seeking for many months. But he is not an alien, such as myself; he is _human_.” 

The bartender’s mouth tugs with a knowing smile. Her gaze flickers across the room, falling upon a man seated at a circular table of guests in the corner.

“So you’re here for Roy?” she asks.“Suppose that makes sense. He’s very popular around here, you know.” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo follows her gaze to the man sitting upon a folding chair in the dusky corner. He is tall and solidly-built, with all the fitness and the fire of a soldier. Yet, the distinctively _red_ coloration to his mutton-chops reveals him to be a different man than the one he is pursuing. And besides that; this man is chatting and laughing with others. His prey would _never_ do such a thing. 

He looks back at the bartender, who nods encouragingly. 

“I assure you,” she says, voice alluring and throaty, “if you’re wanting to tangle with one of our human fellows, he’s just the guy that you’re looking for. Pretty much up for anything, too: aliens, swingers, partnered groups…” she looks him up and down, dark eyes lingering. “... _Power_ play.” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo stiffens. 

_Is my disguise insufficient?_ He wonders, feeling a flicker of hesitation for the very first time since entering the shaded establishment in search of his quarry. _Could she perhaps know who I actually am?_ He stares back at her, hard, searching for any signs of infrared flaming around her cheeks to suggest a lie. _No; perhaps this is just the talent of a professional. Someone who knows and assesses their audience well._

“Thank you,” he replies stiffly. “Your direction has been most...sufficient.” 

Rising from the wooden stool, Mitth'raw'nuruodo drops a handful of flan upon the counter. The Grand Admiral was not so oblivious as to use Imperial credits, which could potentially be traced back to himself or his department. He watches the bartender scoop them up off the counter, flipping one over in her clawed hands. 

“What can I say? I’m good at my job,” she replies, holding his steady gaze. “Now, go get him, tiger. Just: mind the goods. Roy’s a good kid, and I’d hate to lose him.” 

Already turning away, Mitth'raw'nuruodo pauses. _A warning? A threat? She cannot possibly know who I am, and what I am capable of..._ inside of his head, he quickly calculates the risks and advantages of leaving now. _No. It would be far too obvious if I simply departed. I shall go through with this plan; but, I shall be wary. She is far too perceptive for my liking._

Wondering if he could potentially hire another intelligence officer, the Grand Admiral makes his way through the shadowy bar. 

As he walks, his footsteps creak upon the dusty floorboards. He takes care not to pause and let his gaze linger upon anyone else for too long, lest he give the false impression of interest. Instead, he keeps his eyes focused upon the man who’d been identified to him as ‘Roy’, steadily working his way towards the circular table. As he approaches, the similarities between the man and his quarry become even clearer: the handsome features; the age range of roughly 30-40 human years; the muscular arms, fitted to broaden shoulders.

When he arrives at the table, pinning the man with his luminous gaze, all the good-natured chatter dissipates. 

“Hullo, there!” red-haired Roy says to him, giving his body a thoroughly appreciative look. “Now, aren’t _you_ a sight for sore eyes?” The others at the table--a Davronian woman, a Rodian male, and three human persons, two women and one non-binary--are all watching with interest. Internally, Mitth'raw'nuruodo sighs. He knows, theoretically, that he makes for a powerful presence: strong and silent, blue-skinned and rare, with high, arching cheekbones and thin, flawless lips. He allows the impression to settle a moment before responding. 

“Good evening indeed,” he replies in his most smooth, seductive of voices. “Would it be permissible for me to interrupt?” 

His gaze travels up and down the human’s figure. _His mouth is...suggestive,_ he decides, looking at Roy. _The glimmer of...interest appears in his eye. The slight...wetness retained on the edge of his mouth suggests...hunger. He’d be open to having all of them join us, no doubt; although I would prefer to deal with only the one…._

“Sure, Blue!” Roy says, nearly tripping as he leaps from his seat. “Whatever you want.” he gestures to his chair with enthusiasm and open desire--so _different_ from the man whom Mitth'raw'nuruodo is tracking--and makes to go get another one. “I’ll just grab another, and--” 

“--No need,” Mitth'raw'nuruodo cuts in silkily. “I am here for your presence _alone_.” 

Roy pauses, his mouth falling open. He looks comically surprised, if not amazed. Shutting his mouth and swallowing thickly, he looks Mitth'raw'nuruodo up and down once more. Yes, there is an evident interest in his body and eyes: a flush to his cheeks, an indication of an accelerated pulse in his throat. 

_Excellent. This one will be responsive to my interrogation._

“R-right,” Roy agrees weakly, licking his lips. He turns back to the table, shooting a wide-eyed grin and thumbs-up at his friends. “I’ll, I’ll see you all later then, yeah? Gotta. Go ‘show the sights’ to our new visitor!” He turns to the chiss and breaks out in a foolish grin, beaming as though it is both his birthday and Life Day. “Ah. After you, handsome!” he indicates. As he turns to walk away, with an excitable Roy trailing along behind, Mitth'raw'nuruodo thinks that he hears the man whisper: “Good _Maker,_ the odds are with me tonight!” 

Inwardly, he rolls his eyes. _Eli never put me through this._

He bids the golden-skinned Twi’lek bartender goodnight as they walk past her and down a long, dimly-lit hallway. Roy is humming a jaunty tune to himself, and Mitth'raw'nuruodo finds himself longing for the companionable silence of deep space. They make their way past several different doors, pausing before the coat rack at the end of the hallway. Hanging upon one of the tarnished hooks, an old-fashioned key with the number “4” is waiting there. 

“So, you _have_ been here before!” The human declares, leaning against the wall casually. 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo takes the key, gesturing for the sex worker to follow. “Your observation is astute. Yes; I have, upon occasion, required the valuable services offered.” They step through the back door and into the night, crossing the alleyway for the dingy motel next-door. “But I would not call myself a _regular,_ as yourself.” Upon arriving at the properly numbered door, he lifts the key to the handle. “Such visits occurred before I found my partner.” 

Roy makes a wolf-whistle sound as the pair of them step into the shaded, musky hotel. 

“Getting a little on the side, are ya, Blue?” he asks cheekily. Mitth'raw'nuruodo flips on the lights, ignoring the suggestion made by the human. “Or, did I misread it; he’s planning on joining us here later tonight?”

The thought of sharing _his_ human makes Mitth'raw'nuruodo’s face tighten. 

“No,” he corrects, “you were closer the first time.” He shuts the door behind them, and then, with a quick twist of the key, locks it tightly. “However. The services that I must ask of you tonight are _not_ going to be of a... _sexual_ nature.” He turns to the human, who has already begun to remove his pants, “at least, not on my account.” 

Roy, who had already begun to remove his pants, makes a slight pout. He sits down on the bed, kicking one foot up to rest on the opposite thigh. 

“Alright,” he says, raising one red brow. “But you’d better hurry and talk. Because while I’m down for most things, I require knowing about the job up-front. That way, nobody can take advantage of and dominate the situation.” He grins, a cute and cheeky thing in the evening dark. “Well. No more than I’d _like_ it.” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo huffs. “ _Why,”_ he asks, feeling impatience creep in, “are my preferences so transparent?” 

This earns him a grin from the mutton-chopped human. Roy begins to re-button his pants, choosing to lie back upon the bed. He rummages around behind the motel pillow, and pulls out a package of neon-orange rubbers. 

“Guess you just give off that ‘ _punishment’_ vibe. So, we won’t be using these?” he asks, holding up the condoms. 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo’s lips twist in disgust. “No,” he replies, “we will _not.”_ He watches the human shrug and tuck the goods into his pocket. Sighing, the Grand Admiral sweeps his cape aside and sits down on the rusted chair. It is uncomfortable; clearly, everyone who visits this particular motel is a regular of the _Lazy Lekku_ , and therefore, only uses the bed. “What I require of you tonight is _information._ A service of data; ideas.” 

Roy flops down on the bed, long arms extended to pillow behind him. He yawns widely. 

“Sure, champion,” he replies. “S’long as you pay for the whole night? Because, truth be told: I’m pretty tired. And could use a break, if you’re willing.” He wriggles his toes, all human and peachy-pink with a dusting of ginger freckles. “So. What kind of information do you need?” 

Folding his hands in his lap, Mitth'raw'nuruodo considers. “I need you to tell me, he replies, steadily, “about a particular client.” 

The sex worker’s easy, relaxed form stiffens. Mitth'raw'nuruodo watches him carefully; he knows that Roy, like all the others, is bound to a contract of secrecy. Although ‘anything goes’ at the _Lazy Lekku,_ the faces and names of the clients are always held within utmost secret. It is why he needed to get this man away from the others; and it is why he couldn’t ask Honey, the bartender and owner, who would most _certainly_ throw him out for such a request. 

“I am aware of this request’s...significance,” he continues, “and I am fully prepared to pay anything that you require. You see, this information is of...utmost importance.” 

Shifting upon the bed, Roy moves to his belly. He props up his chin with his hand, gazing at him with golden-brown eyes. “ _Anything?”_ he asks, eyes flickering hungrily over the Grand Admiral’s form. “Any cost is on the table?” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo frowns. “As I stated prior to this: sexual options are not on the table.” 

Rather than arguing, the man nods, resigned. “Fair enough,” he replies, running a hand through his hair. “Like _I_ said before: I’m pretty tired, too.” he flashes a grin. “You don’t get to be the most popular figure at a place like the _Lazy Lekku_ without working for it!” 

Respectfully, Mitth'raw'nuruodo inclines his head. “I am most certain that you are correct.” 

They sit there in the quiet of the motel room. Familiar with the long silence of interrogations, the Grand Admiral watches and waits for the other man to unfold. Roy takes his time; he uses the bathroom, makes himself comfortable, and begins flipping through channels of the holo before even turning to Mitth'raw'nuruodo. After cracking open a bulb of fresh water, he finally asks: “Okay. So. If I were to tell you what you want to know: would it get back to me? Would I have to leave my job, my family? Because I really like things as they currently stand.” 

Brow furrowing, Mitth'raw'nuruodo considers. _The human thinks of his fellow co-workers as his kin?_ Perhaps he has to further study such things as family. “No,” he assures him. “It will not be a problem. I have powerful connections, and this information is useful only to _me._ ”

“How can I be sure?” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo is not willing to reveal his rank and position to call for authority. Instead, he merely shrugs, and promises, “If it is credits and privacy that you seek, I can be certain to make it your while. I shall pay you half of what you require up front, with the promise of depositing the second half of the payment later.” Reaching beneath his cloak, he draws out a credit stick. 

Curious, Roy reaches out for it. He _blanches_ when he reads the digital number. “Y-you,” he says, eyes opening wide. “You’re serious?!” 

The chiss tilts his head. _Yes: I am sure of it. I have him now. His heart shows...acceleration. Excitement. The way that his hands grip the side of the data-stick...longing. In his shoulders, I can see the tension of his fascination and interest. In his eyes, I can already see his decision._ He is not surprised when the human nods, mouth parting into a toothy grin. 

“Yeah, alright. You’ve got a deal, Blue.” Roy leans forward, knees to elbows, looking at the disguised Grand Admiral. “What is it that you want?” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo smiles. 

“Tell me everything that you remember, and that you currently know,” he recipes, “about a man named... _Alexsandr.”_

* * *

**...SEVEN MONTHS EARLIER...**

* * *

_There he is again!_ Roy thinks, excitement and arousal rolling in his gut. 

It’s been almost three months since he’d last seen the gorgeous, golden-haired man walking into the bar. He’d noticed--of course he’d noticed, the man’s practically his twin- _-_ when he’d stopped coming to visit the _Lazy Lekku._ He’d wondered briefly about what had happened to him; hoped that he’d found somewhere nice to settle down, or somebody nice to settle down _with_. 

But, judging by the anger and dissatisfaction in the man’s posture, he hasn’t been getting _anything_ lately. 

“Roy. Isn’t that your boy?” T’suki asks in a low giggle. The Rodian man sitting next to him is on his third bubble-beer for the night, and he’s already getting a bit chartreuse around the snoot. “The one who looks like you fucked a clone-cylinder, except with better manners?” 

Grinning, he cuffs his friend behind the ear. 

“You’re rude,” Roy replies. He rises to standing, pushing the last of his own beer away. “I’ve decided: I’ve waited on this one too long. Gonna go get me a good lay tonight, lads!” he says to the table at large, and the rest of his found family raise their beers. He looks at them fondly. “Wish me luck, alright?” Straightening his shirt ( _and adjusting his tightened trousers),_ he positions himself to make for the bar. 

_That’s_ when the Lasat entered the bar. 

It’s hard to say who was more startled to see the large, purple alien man in the establishment: the staring patrons, the wide-eyed bartender, or his quaking, livid-looking doppelganger. Roy watches with fascination as the hulking, _handsome_ creature makes his way towards the taps, every step of his body showing off rippling muscles. 

_Wow,_ he thinks, eyes widening and honing in on the purple man’s ass. _I mean. WOW._

Discarding his plans with the human man, Roy finds himself gravitating towards the open bar. He can see that there is a great deal of tension between the two men: sandy-haired mutton-chops is clenching his fists, biting down his lip so hard it that might actually bleed; purple-striped hunk is flexing his arms, looking down at the other threateningly. If they weren’t so close to throwing punches, Roy might actually guess that they might kiss…

“It’s. It’s _you!”_ his double says, gasping and flushing scarlet in the low light. 

_Ah. They do know each other,_ Roy confirms, sliding into a seat at the bar to watch the show. Neither of the other men notice; they are far too enraptured with one another for his presence to even register with them. The Lasat is panting heavily, as if he’d been running. It makes his chest heave impressively against his battle-type jumpsuit, stretching it all the more tightly ( _and luciously)_ over his muscles. _Pity,_ he thinks, chewing on one lip. _But if this drama doesn’t work out for them…_

“Of _course_ it’s me,” the Lasat growls. Sharp, heavy fangs peek out from under his lower lip, making his expression positively brutish. “Ya knew that all along.” 

Roy watches his double squirm. Blond-haired boy is having a hard time agreeing to what the alien’s saying. Clearly, there is some kind of deep intimacy between them: the way that their bodies incline towards one another; they way that their eyes search each other’s face, as though they could discover all manner of hidden scripture; the way that, even as they are tight-fisted and glaring, he can already see that the men are growing hard. 

“Look,” his double says. His eyes flick towards the door, as though seeking escape. “ _Look,_ Zeb. You already know how this ends. You _know_ that we can’t be together. You _know_ that you don’t really want me.” 

_Zeb,_ Roy thinks, eyeing the purple creature up and down. The name suits him: sporty and powerful, strong consonants that end with a bounce. He feels himself smirking, in spite of the drama unfolding before him. _Pretty sure ‘Zeb’ here could take me and make me bounce…_

“ _Karabast_ , Kallus!” Zeb growls, leaning forward. “Ya know that’s not true. I could _feel_ how much ya actually wanted me, every time we’ve together. Hell: I could _smell_ it.” 

_Kallus,_ Roy notes, committing the name to memory. He watches said man gasp and sputter in protest. 

From behind the bar, Honey interrupts sharply. “Boys?” she says, dark eyes glittering with a fearsome threat. “Is there a _problem_ here?” She reaches to slam a transparisteel stein between them, making the rich, blue contents shudder. A bead of liquid slops out from the top, spattering on the wooden counter like some kind of alien blood. “I think you _both_ know that we have a zero-tolerance policy here. If you’re going to fight, then get out.” 

Roy leans his bearded chin into his hands. _Ooh!_ he thinks. _This is getting very juicy, indeed!_

The human, Kallus, waves a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he says with forced calm. “I was just leaving. I have no desire to talk to this man.” Pushing his chair back from the counter, he turns a shoulder on both Zeb and the bartender. “See you around, rebel.” 

Roy watches with fascination as Zeb’s fur bristols upon his shoulders. A deep, angry growl shudders out from his throat, and his tall, purple ears fold down on his head. 

“Oh, is _that_ how it is?!” the Lasat rumbles. “Afer all those months of fuckin’ together--after _Bahryn--_ yer just gonna walk out on me? Like ya don’t even _care?_ Like that kinda thing all means _nothing?!”_ His emerald eyes have darkened into a deep, bottle green. The pupils have switched from being round and concerned into thin, angular, predatory slits. “ _Fine._ Fine! I’ll--I’ll just--” 

Zeb turns, finding Roy watching. They lock eyes, and a thrill of delicious arousal runs through him. “--Then I’m just gonna kriff _this_ guy!” 

_Oh, yes!!!_ Things are turning out _so_ much better than he could have ever imagined. 

Licking his lips, parting his mouth slightly, he nods with encouragement at the larger man. “Yes,” he agrees, making his interest clear and unhesitant. “Like, I get that you’re in the middle of something, and I don’t really want to make it an issue, but--” 

“--No, yer _perfect,”_ Zeb snarls. He rises and crosses the space between them, bracketing Roy with those enormous, clawed hands. “And yer _mine.”_

He couldn’t have stood a chance if he tried. But _damn,_ he absolutely _wouldn’t_ have! Roy gasps aloud when the velvety skin of the Lasat brushes against his neck--then, the sharp, burning ache of a _bite_ as the larger man bites down. “ _Aaah!_ ” he cries, biting down on his lip as he feels the prickle of fangs almost breaking skin. “Oh, _yes!_ I’m yours: for tonight, for tomorrow, whenever!” 

When Zeb breaks away, Roy can see Kallus watching the pair of them. He looks _livid._

_Not my problem,_ he thinks, stroking a hand down the Lasat’s large, purple biceps. 

“What do ya say, big man? I have a room--Number 3--located at the motel just across the way. You want to join me there? Have some fun tonight?” he bats his eyelashes for the extra effect. Looks like he doesn’t _need_ it. With a surge of motion, the Lasat powers forward, wrapping his hands underneath his hips. He gathers Roy up like so much of a rag doll, then tosses the human over his shoulders. _Big,_ he thinks, eyes seeing stars as the breath is knocked delightfully out of him. _Big, and so strong. All the very fun things that we can do…!_

“That sounds like a yes!” he says, wriggling against Zeb. Down the hallway, and to your left. There’s a key, with a number on it.”

“Good!” 

As his ‘ride’ begins moving that way, Roy shoots a curious glance behind the bar at Honey. The Twi’lek bartender is watching the whole scene unfold with amusement, obviously relieved that the two, larger men would be taking their nonsense out of her expensive bar. _And that’s no wonder,_ he thinks, waving at her as they depart for the hall. _Between the two of those big bruisers? They could probably tear this whole place down!_

The loping movement of the Lasat’s walking makes him slide downwards.

Roy struggles, shifting downward until he can wrap his legs around the man’s broad, muscular waist. Like the rest of him, the muscles here are strong. And _hard._ He groans, hugging tighter against him. He hears the man speaking, but he is distracted by the way that his body is moving around him. Groaning, he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. 

“What did you say?”

“How d’ya like it?” the man is asking. 

Roy lifts his head to look up at Zeb. Although his body is responding favorably, the look on his face is nothing but fury. He gulps, hoping that he’s made the right decision to get between the pair of them. Otherwise, this could end badly. 

“Any way you do, big guy,” he answers, batting his eyelashes. Roy _knows_ that he’s cute, and that doesn’t hurt with negotiations. Particularly, when someone as urgent as Zeb is looking to get at him as fast as possible. “I can lay; I can ride; and I’m _quite_ talented with my hands and mouth.” He waggles his fingers for emphasis. “If you like to try out the glory hole--” 

“--No!” Zeb interrupts sharply. Roy draws back, surprised. “Er, I mean: No _. Thanks._ But I think that I’m feelin’ a full-body ride.” 

Roy slips his hand downwards, passing over the shape of what the man is packing. He’s never been with a Lasat before--few that he knows have--but from what he’s heard, there are some serious size, shape, and spines involved with the fucking. Perhaps, if he’s lucky, some kind of heavy knot, also. 

Roy grins, fondling the man through his jumpsuit. _Good thing I’m a professional._ “Sounds good to me,” he agrees. “Let’s take this to the motel.” 

There is a pinch against the flesh of his ass, and Roy chuckles as the Lasat gropes him and snags the room key. Clinging to one another, breaths escalating, they are heady with anticipation--and nearly all the way out of the door--when they are stopped by another figure. 

Another, _familiar_ , mutton-chopped figure. “ _Zeb,”_ Kallus hisses, “Don’t be an idiot!” 

Roy watches the human, male figure. _How ironic,_ he thinks, seeing how this man has also so clearly missed the obvious. _Could he perhaps be seeing the error of his ways?_ But then, his vision is obscured when the Lasat shifts back, rising up on one foot and using the other to move the other man roughly away.”

“Shove off, Kallus!” he snarls--in a deep, baritone voice that goes _right_ to Roy’s insides. “Ya had yer chance; now, yer just gonna have to sleep with it. Or,” Zeb chuckles cruelly, “with somebody else.” 

The loping movement returns, and Roy can see Kallus following them through the alley. He looks disheveled, and broken-hearted, and _furious._ Those lovely, plush lips are twisted into a sneering anger. Those handsome, sad eyes are tightened to a glittering anguish, with tears of hurt sparkling at the corner. His teeth are bared; his pale cheeks are flushed; his hands are locked as though bound by his rage. He stalks close behind them, never once looking at the man being carried in the Lasat’s arms. 

As Zeb unlocks “Room 3” in front of them, Kallus shoulders his way inside. 

“Look, Kallus!” Zeb roars. He steps into the room, and-- _oh!--_ Roy is tossed bodily across the expanse, landing in a heap upon the awaiting bed. “Ya don’ get to have it both ways! I’m either yer lover, or not; yer enemy, or _not!_ This isn’t some kinda game, where you get to dangle my heart out in front of my eyes!” 

Roy watches, heart pounding, as the Lasat begins to strip off his jumpsuit. He pulls it down off his shoulders, revealing a furred, naked chest covered in stripes and scars. 

“This is what’s gonna happen tonight: yer gonna walk turn an’ outta here, an’ _I’m_ gonna fuck the livin’ _daylights_ out of this pretty bastard,” Zeb declares. He finishes stripping off his battle suit, revealing a full, powerful body of soldier’s musculature. The hair in the center of his chest is thicker and darker, trailing down between strong pectorals and nesting again at his groin. There is a slit there, already parted and dripping, through which a glistening, purple-black head has appeared.Turning to Roy, the Lasat smiles. 

Or rather, grimaces. _He’s in pain,_ Roy thinks. 

“You--you _wouldn’t,”_ Kallus chokes. The human is leaning with one hand against a wooden chair, as if he no longer has the strength to stand on his own power. “You would _never_ do something like that. I’m calling your bluff. You’re _honorable._ You’re--you’re--” 

“ _Watch_ me!” Zeb snarls. And he beckons Roy from the bed. 

Filled with a tangle of fear, curiosity and elation, he obeys and rises from the springy mattress. Kneeling beside him, Zeb the Lasat places his hands on either side of Roy’s shoulders. Claws unsheath, digging into the meat of his skin, yet not breaking it.

“How do ya want this?” he asks again. 

Hot, moist breath fans over Roy’s face. He can feel the interested push of Zeb’s cock--now fully extended--moving wetly against his parted thigh. He can _also_ feel the way that the man’s hands are shaking where they rest against him, as though he too is scared out of his mind. 

Gently, Roy raises a hand to his chest. 

“Let me ride you,” he answers, applying pressure to ease the other man down. “I’m already open and ready.” 

From his place by the door, Kallus makes an abrupt motion. Both Roy and Zeb turn their heads, only to see the man sitting down stubbornly in the chair. _Oh,_ Roy thinks, mild surprise (and, no doubt, interest) unfolding within his head. _He’s actually going to stay and do this? Well then…_ _all the better…_

Curious if he is going to have more than one cock inside his ass tonight, Roy climbs on top and straddles the big Lasat. 

“S-sounds--” Zeb replies, eyes squeezed shut and unlooking. Roy feels a rush of pity, and reaches out to place a hand on the other man’s chin. The Lasat’s eyes flutter open, green and filled with both anger and sorrow. “Yeah. Sounds-- _yeah._ I want that.” 

“Good.” 

Roy begins working his way down carefully, taking his time to shealth the Lasat. It’s just as _wonderful_ a sensation as he’d first hoped: textured with spines, _delightfully_ slick, with more flexibility and range of motion than a human’s. Groaning to show off his enjoyment, Roy pushes Zeb’s cock a little deeper, until he feels the fleshy nudges and ridges beginning to expand inside of him. And the _knot_ \--because, _oh yes,_ he can see that one is going to happen--

“Ya--ya feel--pretty good,” the other man declares below him. 

He glances down. Roy can see that where Zeb had been angry (or sad) before, his face is now awash with surprise and pleasure. There is a pleasant, dark flush around his bluish-grey lips, and his ears are twitching in a charming fashion. Rotating his hips, he sinks farther down upon him. This draws a heady, hot _groan_ out of the man. 

“Liking it?” he asks, leaning down so that he can breathe and share the hot air moving between them. “I told you that I was ready to take it.” 

“Y-yer not wrong,” Zeb replies, chuckling weakly. He gasps, and his hands jerk upward--as though to grasp on to Roy’s undulating hips--but then, he returns them to the mattress. A look of shyness and embarrassment crosses his face. “Are ya--do ya mind--” 

“Touch me,” Roy agrees. He sighs with pleasure as the Lasat reaches up and grips him with those two, heavy hands. “ _Mmmmm._ Yeah. That’s _good.”_ He bounces his hips back and forth for a moment, testing the pressure of his partner’s hands. “Yeah. _Stars,_ you body--” 

A sharp, angry hiss draws his attention. 

Roy glances over, seeing the man named Kallus clutching his chair. His hands are knuckle-white, and his whole body is rigid and twitching. It is clear to Roy that he is aroused--the man’s trousers are tended, and he is heaving with lusty sighs--but his face is a mask of aggression. One thread of golden hair as fallen loose from where it had been tucked back into a sleek form, and it makes him look just _that_ much more messy. 

Roy is drawn back to his partner by a tentative shove that connects their bodies fully together.

Gasping out, he feels the plush of his ass meet furred valley of hips. It feels _glorious_ to bottom out against the Lasat, and he moans and pants aloud to tell him so. Writhing against the man’s gyrating hips, he begins to feel the other shifting into control. It makes a relieved smile twitch across his mouth, knowing that Zeb is starting to release _whatever_ is going on between the other men, and allowing himself to take in some pleasure. 

He gasps again--and this time, Kallus speaks. “Y-you---” he starts. 

Zeb cracks open an eye. The pupil, once again round and dilated in pleasure, fixes upon him with a dangerous stare. From where he is riding above him, Roy’s abdominal muscles give a little shudder. _It feels so good to be treated by him,_ he thinks, savoring the muscle moving inside him. _But I bet that it would feel bad, if you were on bad terms…_

“You c-cant actually want this?” the human male whispers. 

His eyes are locked on Zeb, who is looking. His mouth is in a tight, white-lipped line of--anger? Impatience? _Desire?_ He is panting, and his whole body is shaking. With some amusement, Roy notices that he’s begun palming himself through his trousers; whether conscious or without his awareness, he cannot tell. 

“Doesn't matter what I want,” Zeb growls--and the _feeling_ of that voice moving through him makes him almost come on the spot. “I don’t get to _have_ what I want. _Who_ I want. He’s being obtuse, and won’t admit that he loves me.” 

_Love?!_ Roy raises a hand to run through his sweaty, fallen hair in his eyes. _Ah, yes. I see it now: enemies, turned to lovers._

It doesn’t look like Kallus is ready to see it, however. “Love you?!” he replies, voice rising in pitch. At the words, the Lasat groans below him, eyes rolling back in his purple head. “I’ve hardly gotten to _know_ you, Garazeb! We’ve fucked-- _what--_ a handful of times? And rescued each other? And you just expect me to give up _everything_ and walk away from what I have, just because it was _that good_ with each other?” 

Zeb growls, and in it, Roy hears a whine of pain. He reaches down, stroking behind the Lasat’s twitching ear. 

“Ya--ya know that it’s more than that,” he pants. The hips beneath Roy begin to buck, and he gasps, clinging on to the thick-four fingered hands. “What we have, it’s, it’s--- _hnnggggggg!!!!”_ Suddenly, the erection within him flexes. He feels it flare, spines jutting out and into place. Keening at the bitter-sweet feeling, Roy digs his hands into Zeb’s as the Lasat stripes his insides with spend. “ _Karabast! F-fuck!_ It’s... _hhnng…”_

_Fuck_ indeed. The feeling of seed just keeps _coming,_ filling and warming him as though he could burst. Roy hears himself saying so, mouth overflowing in pleasure. 

That’s when he hears wood beginning to splinter. 

Looking up through tear-filled eyes, Roy sees Kallus standing up from the chair. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are _wild._ His mouth is bared in a kind of animal snarl, and his hands are bent into claws, as though he could use them. There is none of the elegance of before--that smooth, polished man who’d walked into the bar, searching for another quick lay. There was only _fury:_ a lover, jealous and betrayed, seeking to reclaim what belongs to him. 

Unseeing, _seething,_ the man picks up his chair and _smashes_ it down. 

“What we have?!” Kallus nearly screams, stalking towards them. “What _we--”_ he throws the chair leg that he’s still clinging onto, and it clatters loudly against the wall. “You have the _gall_ to say something like that, while you’re _balls deep_ inside of another man?!” 

There’s nothing for it: Roy is going to get out of the way. 

Still heavy-limbed and well-fucked, he drags himself off of Zeb’s dripping cock. To his amazement, the swollen member has already flared back into fullness, as if it is ready to go again, and _again,_ for another round. _Great Maker!_ Roy thinks, his head spinning as he staggers back against the far wall. _How many climaxes are regular?!_

It seems as though he’s about to find out. 

“Fuck you!” Kallus snarls, throwing a fist into Zeb’s chest. 

The Lasat rears up from the bed, roaring and flashing his fangs. His claws extend from his four-fingered hands, sweeping into fullness and gripping into the human man’s clothes. With a tear, he begins to rend them from his body. Instead of bellowing in rage or anguish, the human moans, his whole posture bending. 

“Fuck me _yourself_ , you _coward!”_ Zeb roars. 

It’s as if he is no longer even there: Roy stands, bewitched, watching as the pair of men clash against one another. At first, it looks like a battle: the tussle of punches and kicks; the bites on the swaths of revealed skin and neck; the way that nails tear and rake down furred flesh. But then, something begins to shift: the _moans_ that come from them both, as their bodies seek greater and greater friction; the _gasps_ that elliciet from them, as hands begin gripping and searching and fondling crevices; the cries of _passion_ that escape from their lips, as their bodies no longer collide, but begin to sync together in one, desperate movement. 

_“Z-Zeb!”_ the human sobs. “ _Fuck!_ Zeb! I--”

“--I know, I k _now_!” the Lasat replies. They are entwined face to face, chest to chest, with thrusting hips pounding against each other, and grasping arms locked around one another’s necks.“K-Kara-- _hnnnnggg_ \--Karabast! _”_ Zeb is yelling. _“ALEXSANDR!”_

_Who’s that?_ Roy wonders idly, palming himself and watching the show. _Don’t know if I can manage another person, with this level of unresolved tension…_

_“ZEB._ ” the human repeats. He sounds as though he is breaking. 

His pretty spine arches, blond head falling backwards, as his redded cock bursts and gushes with streaks of pale human spend. _Ah,_ Roy surmises, giving his own erection a half-hearted tug. _So_ _that’s Alexsandr._ It’s quite something to watch: the way that the human is sobbing and clinging on to the other man--as though he might fall--and the equally powerful assurance of the Lasat, who holds on to him--ready to catch him. If he hadn’t already enjoyed his time with the purple man so thoroughly, he would try to get himself off watching this. But, as it is: this is intimate. It’s _theirs._

And so, he gathers up his clothes and makes for the door. 

“I love you,” Alexsandr Kallus is groaning, running his hands through the other man’s hair. His body is jolted up and down wildly, and there are puncture-wounds and cuts all over his pale, freckled skin. “I love you. I _love_ you.” There is a moan, followed by a floor-shaking shudder. 

Hand on the doorknob, Roy turns to see the pair of lovers locked together. 

The Lasat has his arms wrapped around the human’s back, and he’s kissing his head, over and over. His legs are wrapped around Kallus too; all the better to force an enormous, pulsating knot inside of the man, stretching and filling him fully. Rivulets of wet, purple-white cum are dripping down from between them--the _only_ motion, after so much thrusting and reckless thought in their bodies. Between them, there hangs a peacefulness that is utterly still; unmoved, except by the breath of the Lasat’s lips against the human’s hair: 

“I know. _I know."_

Feeling a faint smile spreading upon his face, Roy steps outside and closes the door. 

* * *

**...SEVEN MONTHS LATER...**

* * *

Mitth'raw'nuruodo listens to every word of the red-haired man’s tale. 

His fingers are steepled beneath his chin, and he keeps his face schooled in a silent, solemn line as every piece of the treachery is revealed. _So it was the rebel Lasat after all,_ he thinks, pushing down the impulse to growl. _I had suspected that as much would be the case. But never did I imagine the circumstances..._

He realizes that the other man has grown silent. Questioningly, he raises an eyebrow at Roy. 

“That’s it,” the mutton-chopped man says cheerfully. “Or: that’s what I got in on. I imagine that those two are off somewhere good, making the best of their lives together. I can tell that they really did love one another, you know,” he adds. “Might’ve been a little dysfunctional; might’ve needed some counseling or whatever at first. But those two? There was something _special_ about what they had together. I’ve never seen a passion quite like it before.” He smiles, dreamy and pleasant, up at the sky. “It’s like they were forged together by the Force. Destiny.” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo is quiet. Gradually, he releases his folded hands, then nods his thanks to the human male. 

“I greatly appreciate your time,” he says, keeping his swirl of emotions, as ever, subdued. “And I appreciate your continued secrecy about the matter. Here; I will give you a data-pad number. It will provide you with a location for the second credit chip, which will be paid in full in a matter of months.” He rises, tugging the hood of his cloak back over his blue-black hair. “Once again: this has been most illuminating.” 

Roy gives him a cheerful thumbs-up. He flops down on the bed, sighing and stretching his handsome body. 

“And this has been _fun_ to recall. Thanks for the good time, uh--” he waits expectantly, hoping that the Grand Admiral will over his name. When he does not he just smiles good-naturedly and shrugs his shoulders. “Thanks for the good time, Blue. I’m looking forward to having you around.” 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo shakes his head, making his way towards the door. 

“If all of my calculations are correct,” he replies calmly, “there will be no need for us to encounter one another again.” Resting his palm upon the knob of the door, he recalls the departure from the earlier story. “Good evening to you, Roy.” 

“And to you, Mr. Stranger.” 

And so he’d finally found out about what had happened to Agent Kallus: Internal Security Bureau agent gone Fulcrum. _Rebel._ He’d always wondered what could have possibly allured such a suitable man away from the promises of his career. The curiosity of it had always nagged at him like a private hunger; and yet now, with the evidence all laid out before him, he finds it eroding painfully at the lining of his gut. Twisting, in a sharp and uncomfortable way. 

Mitth'raw'nuruodo steps out into the night, pulling the cloak tightly around him. 

In several quick strides, he moves away from the interspecies motel. As he does, he moves farther and farther away from the possibility of a world where humans and aliens could so willingly choose one another; could choose a life together; could choose to be _happy._

With a tightness in his chest, and a burning in his eyes, Mitth'raw'nuruodo returns to the Empire. 

Agent Kallus will be _punished._

* * *

  
  
  
  
  


END? 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also: yes. That WAS Thranto, my other current obsession. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading this wild craziness! If you need more Roy in your life, you can find him in several other stories as well, including the great PattyPixie's [A Bad Habit to Break](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575314). 
> 
> Until next time!


	5. ART BY SEMPAIKO: "I know. I know."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out Semp's other artwork at her tumblr! (https://sempaiko.tumblr.com). She gave me the okay to post this here - please remember to always check with artists if it is okay to share their artwork!


	6. ART BY SEMPAIKO: "Take a holo, it'll last longer!"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out Semp's other artwork at her tumblr! (https://sempaiko.tumblr.com/). She gave me the okay to post this here - please remember to always check with artists if it is okay to share their artwork!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want more Roy in your life? You can find him in several other stories as well, including:  
> PattyPixie's [A Bad Habit to Break](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24575314)  
> Sempaiko's [Cabin in the Woods](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28542237/chapters/69944841)
> 
> And my cowboy AU, [Moonshine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25904113%22)


	7. ART BY SEMPAIKO: "Guess yer watchin' this..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The picture that started it all!!! 
> 
> (Sorry, no more fic, I just thought ya'll need to see the 'GLORY' of Semp's mind).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check out Semp's other artwork at her tumblr! (https://sempaiko.tumblr.com/). She gave me the okay to post this here - please remember to always check with artists if it is okay to share their artwork!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a comment and/or kudos if you have the time. <3


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